It is interesting, in the context of my current interests, to be reminded (while watching Andrew Graham-Dixon's Travels with Vasari BBC4) of the fact that, in his Lives..., Vasari, the 'father of art history' (but arguably also of art criticism), embellished the truth in order to add intrigue to the stories he was telling. He invented affairs and murders (or at least attributed affairs and murders to artists who could not possibly have been involved due either to physical absence or even death prior to the event.
Vasari's Lives... is an awesome work in the literal sense, a labour of love, and a rich source of knowledge and understanding of the artists discussed. Yet, there is a storytelling element to Vasari's writing, which does not appear malicious - it seems almost naturally to be a part of his process, without devaluing Lives... as an historical text.
So it would appear that story-telling has been a part of art history (as it is surely a part of any historical record) right from the start.
Tuesday, 6 January 2009
Wednesday, 17 December 2008
What Happens to Ideas
First post post-exhibition, if you catch my drift.
It's interesting reading back over the text which went up in the show, reflecting on my thoughts as I saw the ideas in the context of the work. It fitted the work surprisingly well, with the theme of 'telling stories' continually cropping in in the work of a number of the artists.
However, I have concerns over what happens to ideas once they leave security of the notebook (paper or virtual) and go public. I'm not certain, even now, that I stand by all that is in that piece of writing. After all, I did write it three weeks ago. I wonder if stories are enough. Is it worth giving up on the battle for objectivity? Of course, there is the ubiquitous Postmodern theory of relativism, which could be applied in support of the argument reproduced below. However, I argued in my MPhil thesis that this should not, necessarily, take from reasonable (and relatively watertight) judgment and interpretation.
I had moved away from this line of thinking, as you can see in the present piece of writing. Now, though, I am thinking that perhaps I have been a little hasty in rejecting these ideas.
Back to the critics I think, to see what I can see (to see what I can see, to see what I can see...) Sorry, to many nursery rhymes going round and round the mulbery bu... sorry round and round in my head.
It's interesting reading back over the text which went up in the show, reflecting on my thoughts as I saw the ideas in the context of the work. It fitted the work surprisingly well, with the theme of 'telling stories' continually cropping in in the work of a number of the artists.
However, I have concerns over what happens to ideas once they leave security of the notebook (paper or virtual) and go public. I'm not certain, even now, that I stand by all that is in that piece of writing. After all, I did write it three weeks ago. I wonder if stories are enough. Is it worth giving up on the battle for objectivity? Of course, there is the ubiquitous Postmodern theory of relativism, which could be applied in support of the argument reproduced below. However, I argued in my MPhil thesis that this should not, necessarily, take from reasonable (and relatively watertight) judgment and interpretation.
I had moved away from this line of thinking, as you can see in the present piece of writing. Now, though, I am thinking that perhaps I have been a little hasty in rejecting these ideas.
Back to the critics I think, to see what I can see (to see what I can see, to see what I can see...) Sorry, to many nursery rhymes going round and round the mulbery bu... sorry round and round in my head.
Friday, 5 December 2008
Telling Stories
We must all be critics as we stand before the work, for to encounter is to interpret and to judge. Clement Greenberg asserts that ‘it is the first responsibility of the critic to make judgments of value’. The British critic, Lawrence Alloway, expands on this, claiming that the task of the critic is the ‘interpretation and evaluation of new, or at least recent, art’.
In describing Diderot’s reviews of the Salons, Alloway states ‘it is clear that his working method was to… react to the works with a mind well stocked with prior ideas, some of them habitual, some of them fresh’. This was the early model for criticism, but should also be our model for experiencing and thinking about our experiences of art. In a sense, Diderot was describing his personal response to art, but it was a response informed by an absolute affinity to art’s past.
In his 1991 lecture, ‘Homage to the Half-Truth’, Stuart Morgan argues the case for a model for criticism which returns to Diderot’s ‘walking-thinking-writing’. The work, he suggests, reveals only part of the story – the task of the critic is to tell the rest. But wherein does the story reside? In the work, or in the (fallacic) intention of the artist? Perhaps we need only look into the space between the artist, the work and ourselves.
The subjective response remains, and this time in relation to the critic’s own story, as well as to his understanding of the histories and traditions within which the artist is located or locates him/herself. This model suggests the opposite of Clive Bell’s entreaty to ‘bring with us [to the work] nothing from life’. Morgan’s riposte seems to be that the only answer is to bring everything of ourselves and our lives to the work.
The works in the current exhibition seem to speak of Morgan’s more creative model, as we are presented with the artists’ earliest and most recent works – the “once upon a time…” and the “…happily ever after”. Between these poles lie the mystery of meaning. As critic, surely my role is to fill you in, provide the rest of the story, and to make it a good one.
What’s your story?
I know these artists, and their work, and I have spoken to them at length about their practices, their motivations and their lives. I would appear, then, to be in a privileged position with regards to meaning, if we were to apply the older models. However, the stories their work reveals lie somewhere between the private (theirs and mine) and the public (yours). The stories speak of lives spent making art, but also, to me, of a life spent looking.
© James A. Brown, Exhibition Writers Project, 2008
In describing Diderot’s reviews of the Salons, Alloway states ‘it is clear that his working method was to… react to the works with a mind well stocked with prior ideas, some of them habitual, some of them fresh’. This was the early model for criticism, but should also be our model for experiencing and thinking about our experiences of art. In a sense, Diderot was describing his personal response to art, but it was a response informed by an absolute affinity to art’s past.
In his 1991 lecture, ‘Homage to the Half-Truth’, Stuart Morgan argues the case for a model for criticism which returns to Diderot’s ‘walking-thinking-writing’. The work, he suggests, reveals only part of the story – the task of the critic is to tell the rest. But wherein does the story reside? In the work, or in the (fallacic) intention of the artist? Perhaps we need only look into the space between the artist, the work and ourselves.
The subjective response remains, and this time in relation to the critic’s own story, as well as to his understanding of the histories and traditions within which the artist is located or locates him/herself. This model suggests the opposite of Clive Bell’s entreaty to ‘bring with us [to the work] nothing from life’. Morgan’s riposte seems to be that the only answer is to bring everything of ourselves and our lives to the work.
The works in the current exhibition seem to speak of Morgan’s more creative model, as we are presented with the artists’ earliest and most recent works – the “once upon a time…” and the “…happily ever after”. Between these poles lie the mystery of meaning. As critic, surely my role is to fill you in, provide the rest of the story, and to make it a good one.
What’s your story?
I know these artists, and their work, and I have spoken to them at length about their practices, their motivations and their lives. I would appear, then, to be in a privileged position with regards to meaning, if we were to apply the older models. However, the stories their work reveals lie somewhere between the private (theirs and mine) and the public (yours). The stories speak of lives spent making art, but also, to me, of a life spent looking.
© James A. Brown, Exhibition Writers Project, 2008
Done. Dusted.
So the exhibition opened on Wednesday (a good evening). The work is up, and printed, in type. The texts to pick up and take are, yes, on A4 paper. One forgets the practicalities of exhibiting. But I am happy with the text. And feedback has been good.
Next stop, publication. I need now to work towards applying these ideas to criticism, and finding some time to write...
Next stop, publication. I need now to work towards applying these ideas to criticism, and finding some time to write...
Tuesday, 25 November 2008
Down with Postcards
This idea will have to wait for a later project. It is too late in the process to sort this out without becoming stressful (and, therefore, unenjoyable). Also, as you may have sussed yourself/ves, the text is becoming rather too long to fit on something so small.
Perhaps, though, to counter my concern about the potential of paper to pulp, I may print the text on some nice shiny (or perhaps not) card. I want the text to last. As if it were in a book, but not.
Perhaps, though, to counter my concern about the potential of paper to pulp, I may print the text on some nice shiny (or perhaps not) card. I want the text to last. As if it were in a book, but not.
The Giraffe
The draft published below (Copyright me, by the way... nehhhh, hands off) was written over the space of one week, in two sittings. The first, in a pub, sitting in a quiet corner with a Guinness, the second, in the PCA library, in between tutorials with BA students. This draft has been relatively easy to write, as, although the ideas are new to paper, they have been floating around my head for some time now. Also, the key arguments to which I am referring are solidly imprinted on the inside of my head, having formed the basis of my MPhil research all those many years ago.
Looking at those images, I am not so sure now about printing my handwritten text for all to see.
Looking at those images, I am not so sure now about printing my handwritten text for all to see.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)