What Does It Mean?
Ashley Brown
Consider once again the age-old question which has plagued for centuries art theorists, art critics, artists themselves, and even the chance college student enrolled in an Art Theory course: What is art? Countless theorists have devised countless explanations of what makes a doodle or sculpture a piece of art, and not one of those theories has been adopted by the art world as a universal truth about their trade.
I kept this fact in mind while browsing the WSU Art Museum’s Master of Fine Arts Theses. Each of the five artists on display approached art from a different viewpoint. Walther’s carefully crafted video clip was choppy, well-made, and rather confusing. Price’s Hindu tree caught the eye almost immediately upon entering the museum. McGeachy’s digital drawings were appealing yet vague. McCleary’s installation was creative and quite simply baffling. But the works which caught and held my attention the longest were those of Brad Dinsmore.
“The General Dance” series (2009) on display at the museum included two ceramic figures. A bright orange cat, one paw outstretched, the other offering the viewer a vase with a single flower, rested atop a white platform. The “Cat Bringing You Flowers” was not particularly well-made, nor did it seem to offer a deep meaning, until the viewer peered at the second ceramic figure on the ground behind the cat. “Nervous Rabbit” clutched the platform, half-hiding behind it, hiding an array of colorful flowers behind its back. Alone, either statue could mean any number of things. Together, they called to my mind an image of young love—the bold, brave cat confidently proffering a single flower while the quiet, shy rabbit hangs back in the shadows, afraid to offer his beautiful bouquet.
The cat and the rabbit both look like something a first-time sculptor could put together and paint; neither required a high level of skill from the artist. However, this may have been precisely Dinsmore’s intention—meaning over beauty, as Hickey might put it. What the viewer interprets the artwork to mean may in fact be more important to Dinsmore than how well the art was put together or how much time and skill it took him to create each statue.
Each artwork in Dinsmore’s “Epistemological Pursuits” series (2009) seems to combine skill and meaning. “Problems of Knowing” (2009) depicts a pair of well-drawn hands with a few squiggly lines. The contrast between the aesthetically pleasing hands and the crayon lines, in addition to the rather deep name Dinsmore gave it, give the viewer something to mull over and find their own meaning for. Problems of knowing what?, I asked myself. Problems of knowing what in the world the artist intended for me to take away from this piece.
“Tools for Unlocking the Abstract” (2009) is hands down the art work that I found the most interesting and compelling out of all the Master of Fine Arts Thesis works. In this piece, a skillfully sketched head peers down through some squiggles, colorful dots, and a bit of graph paper toward a skillfully sketched hand. As per my interpretation, this work played nicely off of Hickey’s dilemma in The Invisible Dragon. Is meaning more important than beauty in the art world? Abstract work sometimes sacrifices aesthetic appeal in order to achieve a higher meaning. Hickey postulated that perhaps that is the wrong approach to art. Dinsmore seems to suggest a similar idea in “Tools for Unlocking the Abstract”—his piece combines beauty, in the skillfully drawn head and hand, and meaning, in the abstract lines, circles, and graph paper.
Art is a complicated concept, as I’ve learned throughout the course of this semester. It can be beautiful, it can be ugly, it can be meaningful, and it can make absolutely no sense at all. Yet, somehow, it is still art. Hickey asked whether meaning was more important than beauty; Dinsmore answered that it is possible to have both. What is art? The Master of Fine Arts Theses held no answer to this question—or rather, each artists portrayed their own answer. Each artist, with their random installations and confusing portraits, seemed to imply that the most important part of what defines art as art is the viewer’s quest for one simple answer: What does it mean?
Friday, April 24, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
With great responsibility comes great power (and lengthy speculations).
Well, I think I'll take a stab at Spiderman. However, having never read the comic books or anything original, this is based off of the acting skills of Tobey Maguire and Kirsten Dunst.
Foucault thought that the purest form of art came from questioning social norms. The "best" knowledge is the kind that results from asking new, innovative questions that maybe no one else has asked before.
In one of the most significant lines in the first Spiderman movie, Peter Parker's uncle-type-guy says to him, "With great responsibility comes great power." He brushed off this advice at the time, but I'm sure you all know the twist of fate that led Parker to reconsider his uncle-type-guy's advice. There was some deviousness, and a lot of guilt, and some deep thinking. What emerged from this episode was a changed Spiderman, and a re-evaluation of the order of things.
I mean, really, Spiderman was an anomaly, a complete accident. No one else, to Parker's knowledge, had ever been in such a situation or dealt with the issues he had to deal with. What little past knowledge he could glean from, say, reading comic books, was no particular to his situation and thus could only be so helpful. What's a photographer to do? He had to question the order of things as he knew it, and get some real answers on how to live his own life.
Maybe this is stretching what Foucault actually said too far, but if I wanted to write an inspiring essay about this topic, I might say something about how really, any coming-of-age story is a Foucaultian work of art. You have what your parents tell you is right and what your parents tell you that you should do. Then you have what you want to do and be, which is based partially on what your friends are doing and being. Your own life and your own truth is not any of these things which are previously known to you, because you're a unique person and you have to forge your own path. So what can you do? Question the order of things in your life. That's the only way you can really live your own life, instead of just conforming to what everyone else is telling you.
Whoo Spiderman.
Foucault thought that the purest form of art came from questioning social norms. The "best" knowledge is the kind that results from asking new, innovative questions that maybe no one else has asked before.
In one of the most significant lines in the first Spiderman movie, Peter Parker's uncle-type-guy says to him, "With great responsibility comes great power." He brushed off this advice at the time, but I'm sure you all know the twist of fate that led Parker to reconsider his uncle-type-guy's advice. There was some deviousness, and a lot of guilt, and some deep thinking. What emerged from this episode was a changed Spiderman, and a re-evaluation of the order of things.
I mean, really, Spiderman was an anomaly, a complete accident. No one else, to Parker's knowledge, had ever been in such a situation or dealt with the issues he had to deal with. What little past knowledge he could glean from, say, reading comic books, was no particular to his situation and thus could only be so helpful. What's a photographer to do? He had to question the order of things as he knew it, and get some real answers on how to live his own life.
Maybe this is stretching what Foucault actually said too far, but if I wanted to write an inspiring essay about this topic, I might say something about how really, any coming-of-age story is a Foucaultian work of art. You have what your parents tell you is right and what your parents tell you that you should do. Then you have what you want to do and be, which is based partially on what your friends are doing and being. Your own life and your own truth is not any of these things which are previously known to you, because you're a unique person and you have to forge your own path. So what can you do? Question the order of things in your life. That's the only way you can really live your own life, instead of just conforming to what everyone else is telling you.
Whoo Spiderman.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
He won't say, "it's either/or, baby."
It is true that there are few great women artists on par with Picasso or even Pollock. And it's true that women are underrepresented in the art world. It's also true that it would be incorrect to "dumb down" the art world, so to speak, in order to label more women as great artists.
This isn't because women don't have skill, or because gender determines art in any way. Simply put, it's because of blocked opportunities. How many men had access to the entire reserves of the art world? A whole freaking lot. How many women had this same access? Hardly any. So it's unsurprising that we all know so many male artists and so few female artists--given a larger sample size to draw from, geniuses will emerge. With a small population, this is not so likely. I think that if men and women had ALWAYS had the same access to the same resources, we would see AS MANY great and well-known female artists as male artists.
Plus, the whole patriarchal social structure thing. That plays a role, too, in how much exposure female artists could actually have back in the day.
The Heidi Chronicles was interesting to me because Heidi has so little character. She just kind of watches and feels unhappy. You know? She rarely shows any real personality that hasn't been assigned to her by the preconceptions of Scoop, Peter, or even Fran. And in the play, the actress who played Heidi made her very awkward. When I pictured the high school dance scene, I thought of it more as Peter and Heidi bonding immediately after a short awkward period. But in the play, the whole thing was awkward. Same with when she met Scoop--I imagined her as a little more forceful and angry, a little less quiet and vulnerable. But I suppose that must just be my own preconceptions about what a feminist should be like.
This isn't because women don't have skill, or because gender determines art in any way. Simply put, it's because of blocked opportunities. How many men had access to the entire reserves of the art world? A whole freaking lot. How many women had this same access? Hardly any. So it's unsurprising that we all know so many male artists and so few female artists--given a larger sample size to draw from, geniuses will emerge. With a small population, this is not so likely. I think that if men and women had ALWAYS had the same access to the same resources, we would see AS MANY great and well-known female artists as male artists.
Plus, the whole patriarchal social structure thing. That plays a role, too, in how much exposure female artists could actually have back in the day.
The Heidi Chronicles was interesting to me because Heidi has so little character. She just kind of watches and feels unhappy. You know? She rarely shows any real personality that hasn't been assigned to her by the preconceptions of Scoop, Peter, or even Fran. And in the play, the actress who played Heidi made her very awkward. When I pictured the high school dance scene, I thought of it more as Peter and Heidi bonding immediately after a short awkward period. But in the play, the whole thing was awkward. Same with when she met Scoop--I imagined her as a little more forceful and angry, a little less quiet and vulnerable. But I suppose that must just be my own preconceptions about what a feminist should be like.
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