Tag Archives: civilization

March 5, 2013 · 9:23 am

Read For Yourself

Recently I was watching C-Span Book TV ‘s coverage of author Robert Richardson at the 2013 Key West Literary Seminar.  As I was suffering from a rather potent bout of insomnia, the thought of listening to some old hippies rattle on about how they do not like the mess they have made of our society seemed to be the best way to put me to sleep under the circumstances.  Much of Mr. Richardson’s presentation was what one would expect., in that  we were condemned to a random rattling off of quotations from other writers, with a single adjective attached to each indicating his approval.  This sort of presentation is of course designed not so much to enlighten, as to impress the audience with the amount of books the lecturer has read.

During his presentation, Mr. Richardson recounted the passage in Dostoevsky’s “The Brothers Karamazov” in which one of the brothers justifies his quasi-atheistic views, doubtless as a foil for the author himself or at least some of his thought process, since if you have read other works by Dostoevsky you know that he was something of a mixed bag when it comes to his opinions on religion.  A story is recounted about an 8-year-old boy who is quite literally hounded to death, with a gruesome punishment for a minor misdeed, before the eyes of his own mother.  If God allows such things to happen, the story concludes, then the recounter of the tale was not interested in having anything to do with him.

That attitude, according to Mr. Richardson, aptly reflects his own views on the subject as well.  The rather obvious rejoinder to this of course, at least for the Christian, is that Mr. Richardson’s argument is something of a cop-out, since God Himself was brutally and unjustly killed before the eyes of His Mother on Calvary.  It also assumes that the concept of free will is something which must be imposed or lifted at will, as if God is playing a chess match with human playing pieces.  Be that as it may, such a simplistic and rather narcissistic understanding of the Divine is regrettably not uncommon among the so-called intelligentsia who dominate our universities, publishing houses, and media outlets.

For forty years or so we have witnessed the build-up of an intellectual establishment built not on universal truths, let alone intellect, but rather on relative opinions, and Mr. Richardson is merely one cog in that infernal machine.  We have seen the effect of the worship of Priapus instead of God, for example, in the enormous amount of sexually transmitted disease that runs rampant through our society which, as a very wise theology teacher of my acquaintance pointed out the other evening, no one seems to talk about.  The supposed freedom granted by the Sexual Revolution has in fact enslaved us to, among other things, the pharmaceutical industry.  This chasing after temporary personal pleasure in lieu of preparing for eternity, following millennia of human intellectual endeavors to instill virtues of self-control and self-sacrifice, has had a devastating impact on our world.

Yet there is something to be said for the example of those like Mr. Richardson, who stand at podiums and preach their gospels of nothingness, and that is the fact that they do actually read.  They may largely be reading a lot of garbage bound between two covers and presented as books, but nevertheless they do undertake the effort to continue to work on the exercise of their minds  through the exploration of writing.  Of course, part of the reason many otherwise educated younger people do not read today, is precisely because they had professors like Mr. Richardson in college.  If you are burdened with a teacher who turns you off to the world of literature by insisting that everything is about oppression and sex, there can be no better barrier to raise to the concept of reading as a form of ongoing education and the formation of ideas.

Fortunately, there are remedies to the situation.  I have always found that one of the best ways to critically evaluate a work of fiction, biography, and so on which you cannot bring yourself to agree with, is to always keep in mind the question of whether the author actually understands the truth he is rejecting.  I do not have to agree with a writer’s point of view in order to be able to find merit or even truth in his work.  This is not an easy task, of course, yet if you know what you believe, then you can be at the ready when you perceive that a scrivener or a professor is trying to convince you that they are right, and you are merely ignorant.  (How one establishes what is right and what is wrong when everything is supposedly relative is another matter entirely.)

By no means am I suggesting that you go off and read the collected works of Engels and Marx, unless of course you are a glutton for punishment, or for that matter wish to fully know thy enemy.  After all, without having at least some idea of what the devil looks like, when he tells you there is no such thing as personal accountability for example, you will be hard-pressed to recognize him when he presents himself in one of his countless guises.  Just as the lawyer in the courtroom needs to be able to anticipate his opponent’s argument in order to be able to successfully defeat it, it is insufficient to say that simply because part of what an author believes or concludes is incorrect, that it is therefore impossible to gain anything from his work.’

It is often unpleasant to read the work of those who are still fighting the culture wars that led our society into the morass in which it wallows in at present.  However to back away and give those digging us in, ever deeper, into such muck is not helpful either.  One may be able to refute Mr. Richardson – and indeed Dostoevsky – without having read any of their work, but it would be a difficult endeavor to sustain over a long period.

Thus while it is certainly inadvisable to take your views on the question of eternal life from those who write novels, or indeed biographies of existentialists, it is important to at least be somewhat familiar with such thinkers, however misguided they may be.  It is through a systematic emphasis on the dumbing down of Western society, paradoxically as access to higher education has never been more widespread, that we have found ourselves in a culture that is rather shallow, materialistic, and interested largely in the seeking of personal pleasure, much like the ancient pagan societies we emerged out of.  The fight to make us into a fat, lazy, and ignorant society which can be easily controlled and placated has very nearly been achieved.

In order to take back this battle then,  you cannot rely solely on your wits: you must work. And by work, I mean you must read.  Read all of the writers you love and admire, yes, but also take the time to read those whom you are suspicious of, and do so with a critical eye as to why you find them so untrustworthy.  It is entirely possible to examine what the world is trying to sell you as truth, without actually buying into its message in the process.  And unlike Mr. Richardson, I would posit that reading someone like Emerson does not require that you actually throw yourself head-first into Walden Pond.

3ages (800x600)
“The Three Ages of Man” by Giorgione (c. 1500-1501)
Pitti, Florence

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January 11, 2013 · 3:03 pm

Civilization and Contemporary Art – Part II

Yesterday in the first half of this two-part blog post, we explored the question of why a lack of respect for property rights among certain contemporary artists and their aficionados is a departure from some of the basic principles of our civilization.  Today we look at a different, but not unrelated, aspect of how contemporary art and civilization interact.  Specifically, I would like us to think about how much residual right should an artist have in their work?

The Visual Artists Right Act (VARA) was passed by Congress back in 1990, and you would be forgiven for never having heard of it, gentle reader.  In a nutshell, the law was designed to protect artists from having their name attached or detached from works of art without their permission, and from having their artworks significantly defaced or vandalized during their lifetime.  This latter protection includes work which they themselves no longer actually own.  It is in effect largely a moral law, rather than a commercial one, but its application can have significant financial implications.

Back in 2008, mural painter Kent Twitchell received a $1.1 million settlement under VARA from the Federal government and private contractors, who had painted over one of his works, a monument to pop artist Edward Ruscha, without his permission.  The mural was located on the outside of a government building in Los Angeles which was being renovated, and no one contacted Twitchell to let him know that his painting was being destroyed, either to allow him the opportunity to have it removed or for him to seek some sort of legal remedy to prevent its destruction.  Whatever one feels about the art in question, or the size of the settlement, we can certainly understand why an artist would be upset to see something he created being destroyed.  But what happens when an artist decides that the laws protecting his work do not go far enough?

In an article published yesterday in The Art Newspaper,  a curator claimed that prior to a retrospective at the Metropolitan Museum of Art back in 2011, artist Richard Serra made a number of changes to works which had been lent to the exhibition.  In some cases, Serra re-created works of his which had been lost or irreparably damaged, and rather than list their new creation date insisted on dating them from the time when their predecessors had been created.  It was also alleged in the article that Serra threatened a private collector that he would “withdraw” a work of his which was owned by the collector from the owner’s collection, if Serra was not allowed to make the changes he wanted – a charge Serra himself denies.

Serra is arguably among the most prominent contemporary artists working in America today; his works are sought by collectors and museums all over the world.  To be frank, I loathe his work.  Yet let us remained focused not on the man’s art, but on his mindset.  To that end, I found this quote rather telling:

Serra says it is not important whether audiences know which version they are seeing. “There’s no aura of originality because it’s an anonymous surface. It’s a difference without a value. I try to keep surfaces as anonymous as possible.”

To re-create a work of art and then back-date as per Mr. Serra is simply ludicrous, and insulting not only to art collectors, museums, and historians, but also to future generations, who will have to try to figure out exactly when he created what.  If I wrote you a letter today, but dated it to October 12, 1992 because I am copying a letter I wrote you then, does that make the result an actual letter from 1492?  Of course not.  So to argue that re-creating a lost work and back-dating to the past, rather than in the present when it was actually made, is completely nonsensical, and frankly rather disturbing.

This bit of irrational art-speak nonsense on the part of Mr. Serra aside, the really interesting contrast here is between the Twitchell case and the Serra incident.  The former involved the destruction of a public work of art, owned by the public, while the latter involved a work owned by a private individual.  Under long-established principles of our law, a private owner has at least a reasonable expectation that he can do what he wants with the property in his possession to which he owns clear legal title.  It appears that what some contemporary artists are attempting to do, under VARMA and similar laws elsewhere, is to assert that they retain a type of ownership which they can assert at any time they see fit, even once they are no longer the legal owners of one of their works.

Throughout art history there have been examples of artists who, after one of their works leaves their hands, have asked the new owner if they can have the piece back, in order to make some changes or repairs.  Whether or not they are granted this request has always depended largely on the good will of the owner.  While VARMA tries to offer some protections, out of interest for preserving the artist’s reputation, clearly this law was not intended to allow an artist a right to take back possession of his work.

Imagine that you were fortunate enough to possess an original work of art by a major living artist, who one day knocked on your door and insisted that he come in and see how well you were taking care of his work, and that he be permitted to carry it away so that he could make some alterations to it.  You would be well-within your rights to call the police, but then what would the courts ultimately decide?  Do you actually own the work of art, or do you simply possess it in some sort of bizarre tenancy in common?

This is now a serious question, as ridiculous as the situation may be, because more and more artists like Mr. Serra will be using this law to assert what they believe this law gives them, morally.  There is a growing perception among some contemporary artists, and the collectors too afraid to challenge them, that artists have a right to reclaim their work from whoever has subsequently legally purchased it.  If this were to become legal precedent, it would be so outrageous a development in jurisprudence as to call into question many aspects of our real property system, and all for the sake of some very egotistical, well-paid artists with the deep pockets necessary to bring such claims.

As is so often the case historically, the art world is ahead of the curve when it comes to how society is going to change over time.  Recognizing that this is the case, it must be said that far too little attention is being paid to what is going on in contemporary art by those who are simply on the lookout for the next outrageous act of anti-Christian blasphemy.  By staying so narrowly focused, they miss the truly subversive thinking that is going on right alongside such works.

That being said, in considering these matters it is important to point out that not every artist working today believes that the ideas and behavior described in these blog posts are legitimate ways of either thinking or behaving.  I am fortunate enough to call a number of very talented, professional artists my friends, and none of them would behave like the people described in these articles.  Nor should you assume that merely because an artist does not create works portraying recognizable subjects, that they are out to destroy Western civilization.  We will leave that task to Planned Parenthood.

Rather my intent here, as is always the case in my writing, is quite simple: to encourage you to go educate yourself.  And should you find, upon further investigation, that you completely disagree with my concerns, then by all means please come back and engage me in discussion, and tell me so.  For it is only by shedding light on this type of thinking and behavior that civilization can be prevented from crumbling into anarchy.

mural

“Monument to Ed Ruscha” by Kent Twitchell (1987) [destroyed, 2006]
Job Corps Center, Los Angeles

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January 10, 2013 · 12:09 pm

Civilization and Contemporary Art – Part I

Today I begin a two-part series considering some aspects of the relationship between civilization and contemporary art, as a result of two rather interesting but on the surface very different news stories from the art world.

As a caveat, in using the term “contemporary art” I am of course aware that this is an unwieldy, overly-broad designation, which includes a wide variety of artists – some of whom actually know how to paint, sculpt, etc.  That being said it is true that we are witnessing in certain quarters of the art world a number of disturbing parallels to what we see in society, with respect to the erosion of principles that have until now kept us comparatively civilized.  So let us begin our consideration of these matters with the story of the arrest of a fugitive art vandal, since by its very nature that sounds like an exciting place to start.

Yesterday a 22-year-old man whose name I will not repeat (he has had far too much press already), who was wanted in connection with charges of felony graffiti and criminal mischief, turned himself into authorities on the U.S./Mexican border crossing in McAllen, Texas.  The accused, an artist who described himself as being aligned with the “Occupy” movement, had vandalized a painting by Picasso at the Menil Collection in Houston this past June.  His actions were allegedly captured on camera by a bystander in the gallery, who then posted the video to YouTube.  This “artist” subsequently fled to Mexico, until he was able to negotiate his surrender to police.

The Menil Collection is home to art accumulated in the 20th century by the de Menil family, one of those blendings of European aristocracy and American fortune which have often benefited both sides of the Atlantic (e.g., Churchill.)  Arguably the de Menils’ most important legacy in the history of modern art was their commissioning of the interfaith space now known as the “Rothko Chapel”, as a result of a series of large, black paintings by Mark Rothko which decorate it.  While I personally do not care for Rothko, you may recall I positively reviewed the exhibition of these paintings at the National Gallery, when they were here in Washington a few years ago.

It seems to me rather curious that this museum was chosen by the alleged vandal.  For while not everything in the Menil Collection is modern or contemporary art, that area of collecting certainly predominates there, and much of that art was originally created to challenge what was perceived by the artists themselves as being a too-conservative political, social, or cultural establishment.  Alongside the Picasso at issue are works by Magritte, Matisse, Warhol, and many other important 20th century artists.  One would have thought that this would make the Menil rather more like a temple for adherents of “Occupy”, instead of a site to be targeted for some sort of half-baked plot against capitalism or taking baths.

Why this Picasso in particular, his “Woman in a Red Armchair” from 1929, happened to be targeted we do not know.  The perpetrator, whomever the courts determine him to be, stenciled a bull and the word “conquista”, Spanish for “conquest”, onto the painting before fleeing the building.  Curators at the gallery were able to quickly remove the work and take it to their conservation department, though reports are that restoration of the painting is still ongoing.

Art vandalism has taken place throughout history, and for various reasons – theological, political, social, or simply as a result of mental illness.  It is a subject which I have treated extensively before, and no doubt will regrettably have occasion to do so again.  Yet in this particular case, what is deeply disturbing is not only the act itself, but also a disturbing detail of this story, which involves the aforementioned bystander.

The “artist” who allegedly damaged this painting is someone who, like much of contemporary society, is an untalented individual clearly out to make a name for himself, rather than to demonstrate any actual artistic competence.  It is hardly the work of the ages to paint with a stencil.  In fact, I can recall the nuns using a stencil to paint pictures of flowers, trees, and geometric patterns to brighten up the hallways of my primary school, with a comparatively more pleasing effect.

However our real derision must fall on the person who stood by and did nothing, other than film this vandalism.  For not only did he watch the perpetrator while he was vandalizing the painting without attempting to intervene, but he actually met with the person a few days later, and discussed the event with him.  Darker minds than mine will ask whether this was pure happenstance, but be that as it may.

And the eyewitness’ response to what took place? ”I thought it was pretty cool how he walked up to the painting without fear, sprayed [sic] painted it and walked off.”  What a wonderful expression of civic responsibility, public-spiritedness, and respect for the property of others.  I suppose should I ever have the misfortune to meet this individual, he will not complain too loudly when I knock him over and take his iPhone from him – perhaps I should do so while wearing my Superman costume, because that would be “pretty cool” also.

The understanding that what is mine is not yours to do with as you see fit is enshrined in our Constitution and the other foundational documents of our nation.  They were, naturally enough, largely adopted through precedent from English common law.  That, in turn, as indeed is the case with all ancient systems of law, grew out of an appreciation that civilization and anarchy cannot peacefully co-exist.  The fact that at some point in the past we realized that I cannot come into your cave and drag off your mastodon carcass for my dinner, simply because I am twice your size, is due to the hard work of centuries of our ancestors to fight against the human tendency toward anarchy, which ion the end is really nothing more than selfishness writ large.

By not doing anything at all, the eyewitness to this event has demonstrated quite clearly what we can see throughout our society: a rising tide of indifference or even of outright hostility toward fundamental principles of civilization.  We can see the celebration of destructive acts by no-name artists, such as the alleged criminal here, or by household-name artists, such as the Chapman Brothers or the individual known as “Banksy”, making anti-social behavior paradoxically more and more socially acceptable.  It is a perhaps a chicken-and-egg question as to whether contemporary art is influencing the culture, or vice versa, but this almost sociopathic inability to think about the impact of our selfishness on civilization is something which contemporary art seems to be in the vanguard of encapsulating for our consideration.

Tomorrow we will look at the rather interesting case of one of the most prominent of contemporary artists, and how his desire to destroy of the concept of property rights in works of art is fracturing the contemporary art community itself.

Picasso

“Woman in a Red Armchair” by Picasso (1929) [before vandalization]
Menil Collection, Houston

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November 27, 2012 · 10:42 am

Raise Your Glasses

Today is the anniversary of the death of Jacobo Sansovino, who was born in Florence in 1486 and died in Venice in 1570. You may not be familiar with his name, gentle reader, but because of one single piece of art he created, he helped spur on the development of the Renaissance in Western Art, which of course had a far greater impact on world history than simply serving as decoration.  In one sculpture, Sansovino helped convince his contemporaries that not only had they managed to rediscover the knowledge of the Ancient Greeks and Romans, but in fact they were reaching the point at which they would be able to surpass those who had come before them – and for this he certainly deserves a memorial toast.

In 1510 Sansovino was commissioned to sculpt a statue of Bacchus, the Roman god of wine, for the Florentine aristocrat Giovanni Bartolini.  It was to be placed in a niche in the classically designed gardens of the latter’s home, the Palazzo di Valfonda, alongside statues of other gods and heroes from Greek and Roman mythology.  Fortunately for us, ever since the sculpture was later acquired by the Medici family, it has been housed in a museum for many centuries.  If the statue had been left outside, what makes this particular sculpture so special might very well have been lost, as a result of exposure to the elements.

When the work was completed in 1512, it astonished viewers because of a single factor, which may not be apparent unless you think about what you are looking at.  We see the figure of a nude young man, crowned with a wreath made out of grapevines.  He is striding forward, while at his lower right a small faun is trying to snatch a cluster of grapes from his hand.  All of this seems very ordinary at first, if we have seen Greek and Roman sculptures before.  Yet what is truly remarkable about this particular piece is that the figure of the young god holds his left arm aloft, bearing a drinking vessel, and that left arm has no visible means of support.

Up until this time, sculptors were extremely reluctant to attempt this type of carving in stone, since they had little or no remaining evidence from the past that such a thing could be done successfully.  Typically, when they were carving limbs that would be held away from the body, ancient sculptors would carve the arms of their statue separately and attach them later, since the weight of the heavy marble arms and the lack of support would tend to cause this part of the sculpture to crack and fall off, were it carved from a single block.  For example, in the famous example of the now-armless “Venus de Milo” in The Louvre, on the right side of the torso one can see a hole, which originally held a metal strut to support the now-vanished right arm of the statue, carved separately and attached later in situ.

Moreover, not many patrons would be willing to pay for such a feat, which would likely end in failure.  In a lightweight material such as wood, where things could be hollowed out or pinned together, gravity was not such a significant issue, but when it comes to stone, its heavy weight can be its undoing.  Thus it was considered so difficult and risky to attempt to carve a statue with an arm held aloft in a single piece of carved stone, that until Sansovino made this bold attempt most sculptors – including Michelangelo – simply avoided the challenge altogether.

The arm alone is not the only innovation however,  for here Sansovino is not simply copying his artistic forebears.  He is portraying a classical subject in stone, of course, which would have been familiar to the ancients, but there is a more natural sense of motion and fluidity in the body than one would often find in classical sculpture.  Admittedly this is not a universal observation, and there are notable exceptions, particularly from the Hellenic period.  Yet here we have a sense of movement in the pose of the figure, and indeed of boldness on the part of its sculptor, to create a sense of liveliness caught in a split second, rather than portraying someone standing still or at rest, which is what Classical sculptors tended to do.

In his later career Sansovino moved to Venice, where he became an engineer and a brilliant architect, helping to spread the aesthetic ideals of High Renaissance Florence and Rome to that city.  In fact, this native Florentine became so beloved by the Venetians, that when he died he was buried in the great Basilica of San Marco.  Yet this single work from when Sansovino was only an up-and-coming artist in his mid-20′s, competing with dozens of other young sculptors in the artistic hotbed of Renaissance Florence, can be admired not only on its own merits, but more importantly as part of a whole.

Achievements such as this in the arts, sciences, literature, and so on, had a profound impact on the thinkers and writers of the Renaissance.  These people became convinced that they were on the right track to achieve an even greater civilization than the ancients, to whom they had previously felt so inferior.  As we are all aware, in the end this change of attitude had a profound impact on the entire history of humanity.

“Bacchus” (detail) by Jacobo Sansovino (c. 1510-1512)
The Bargello, Florence

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October 25, 2012 · 11:02 am

The Courtier Pays a Call

Last evening I visited some good friends after work for a couple of hours, having a drink outside on their balcony and enjoying both the conversation and summer-like weather.  One of the benefits of getting older is realizing how often such evenings are infinitely more pleasurable, memorable, and even educational than ones spent either surrounded by a great deal of noise and activity, or entirely on one’s own.  The reason I suspect this is the case is something that Count Castiglione himself understood very well, for in fact it forms the framework for his “Book of the Courtier”, from which this blog takes its inspiration, and that is the importance of actual conversation between human beings, and what that conversation does to examine and to build up our society.

Back before the Western world turned in on itself in selfishness and the worship of fleeting images projected onto flat screens, people of all social classes used to engage in what was collectively referred to as “paying calls.”  This involved physically going to visit a neighbor, friend, or relative, in order to discuss how everyone was doing, the news and events of the day, and so on.  The manner and timing of the visit would vary according both to personal desire and local practice.  In one part of the world for example, it might be customary to pay calls after church on Sunday; in another, it might be that one visited one’s neighbor only in the cool of the evening after chores were finished for the day.

When calling upon others was considered standard practice, the “people from the manor” visited their neighbors and friends, and received visitors in turn, just as the farm laborers working in their fields did in their own cottages.  The merchants in the towns and cities engaged in it, as did their customers.  Please note that in observing this fact, I am not making reference to some dreamy fantasy of what life might have been like in the days before television and the internet: it was simply a fact of life that unless you were desperately poor – and even the poor would visit one another to bring comfort and solace in their commiseration - you had a duty to behave this way if you were to be considered civilized. Ask your grandparents about what life was like when they were younger, and chances are they will tell you about paying calls, or whatever the practice may have been referred to where they lived, where the adults relished the opportunity to sit and talk with other adults.

We can see just how essential this practice was, for paying calls takes place among all classes of society throughout the canon of Western literature.  It is recounted throughout centuries of fiction: without even having to go look up the actual passages, I can think of such scenes in the work of writers such as Jane Austen, Mark Twain, Leo Tolstoy, Honoré de Balzac, Eudora Welty, James Boswell, Bailey White, Arnold Bennett, Laura Ingalls Wilder, James Joyce, and countless others.  It was such a common practice, with so many local varieties, that sometimes the rules surrounding this practice could become quite rigid – even comically so.

Take the beautiful BBC miniseries “Cranford”, for example, based on the novels of Elizabeth Gaskell.  The spinster sisters Miss Deborah and Miss Mattie Jenkins inform their recently-arrived houseguest from the metropolis of Manchester, Miss Mary Smith, of all the multiple protocols adopted locally over the years, as to when and where and how such visits are to take place.  These unwritten commandments on paying calls provide a seemingly endless source of amusement for the  viewer, as the maid repeatedly errs in how she announces visitors, or the visitors themselves stay too long, or raise subjects that are not supposed to be addressed during such get-togethers.

Yet comedy aside, the important thing to note from the practice of visiting and holding conversation on a regular basis in the home, was that it held families and communities together.  When we started building Western civilization through working together, these practices helped to both create and give life to society, and to thereafter keep that society going.  And this marvelous feat of not actually slaughtering each other in the street was accomplished by bringing people face to face within a framework of behaving with respect in someone else’s home, however grand or humble that home might be.

As I wrote about earlier this week, with the coming of shorter days and colder temperatures, many of us are going to become more isolated, turning to television and the internet for company, and we need to make an effort to reach out to those who might be isolated because of the change of seasons.  However I would also suggest that regardless of the time of year, for the larger health of our society, paying calls on a regular basis with those in our community is something we ought to consider reviving.  Perhaps not in as formal a way as it was practiced previously, but we can use technology to make such meetings easier to arrange.  And once we do meet, then the technology can be switched off or ignored, and the type of conversations which led to the building up of Western civilization can once again take place.


“Rev. Thomson paying a call on Mr. and Mrs. Harris in their home”
Life Magazine

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