Is there good art?
I have lived parts of my good life very passionately persuading people about the value of things that are inherently to be valued subjectively. And it is usually not the very value of the thing I’m advocating but my passion that is impressioned upon people – sadly. In a world with such a variety of tastes, is there really a point in persuading others of the value of something – especially of the arts? I once saw a comment that went like this: “All criticism in art is pretentious. The reason is because art is subjective.” That’s a very interesting comment indeed. Let us try to interrogate this claim.
The assumption here is that subjective things cannot be measured/critiqued/analysed by any standards; because having a standard supposes that there is an objective ranking or valuation. And therefore, since it is outside of the realm of objective standards, to criticise it is to impose a standard upon it. In other words, when we criticize, we are pretentious because we are foisting the standard of one subjective thing over another and assuming that our subjective valuation is objective – forcing them to accept our standards. The conclusion then is that art is inherently a sacred, protected realm. There is no good art or bad art – all art is art.
Obviously, there are some problems with this claim, in spite of its universalist and all-inclusive appeals. It certainly is a fantastic kind of attitude to adopt because it seems to value the worth of everyone’s handiwork. But it is deeply problematic. For one, it devalues the work of people whose careers depend on their handiwork. It’s essentially saying: “Art? Anyone can be an artist! I pooped a beautiful shape this morning!” Not only so, in setting such a low bar, we deprive ourselves of art that educates – the kind of art that requires introspection, imagination, observation and a keen understanding of the nuances of tone, texture, and so on. Indeed, I think most artists fear the increasing tone-deafness of the current public – both figuratively and literally.
And then, I chanced upon another comment that seemed to be slightly more fair: “Any good commentary on art always walks the fine line between informed opinion and pretentious high-mindedness.” Again, the inescapable assumption here is that we cannot force some standard of assessing something that is of subjective value. At best, it is only an “informed opinion”.
The goal of this post is to probe this claim. Is this the best we can do? Should we leave the door wide open for all kinds of art? Is there no way at all for us to assess the value of art – even if it is sloppy?
As a child I was happy to listen to the music that the rest of my peers listened to. The thing about music is that our ears are trained by the music of our times – it is acquired. So this part is true: it would be hard for us to really understand or appreciate the best music from centuries past. Obviously, then, I was eager to have my parents like the music I listened to. I was often looking at them with eager anticipation when my cd was played in the car – but to no avail. One day my dad made a “pretentious” comment: the kind of songs you guys listen to really are quite meaningless. At that point, I didn’t think of it was a pretentious comment, but I thought hard about what he said, and I later agreed.
And so, as if i underwent a baptism of the spirit, I completely chucked out my old music and began to listen to my dad’s oldies. I replayed Englebert’s Last Waltz, and took special liking to John Denver’s music, especially his melancholic Leaving on the Jetplane. I tried to share this new gospel to my friends, praising the rich meaning and lyrics embedded in the songs. All that time, I believed that the rest of the world was suffering from a kind of false consciousness – they didn’t know what was good. They were too enraptured by what was trendy, what was listened to. They had failed to appreciate what was objectively beautiful.
It lasted maybe 2 years or so, before I realised it’s just weird. The music just didn’t suit my taste at all, even if the lyrics were somewhat meaningful. You know, maybe it’s true, maybe there really isn’t any kind of standard to measure the value of art. Today, if I listen to Leaving on a Jetplane, I get goosebumps and I just feel as if something inside me died. I probably listened to too much of it during the days of teenage angst.
But if I cannot claim an argument from false consciousness, and if I’m unhappy with the all-inclusive claims that prevent us from making a valuation of art, where does that leave us? I feel perplexed too. But maybe, just maybe, we ourselves need to make efforts to increase our education of good art. Maybe we can evaluate art, just that we have abdicated that responsibility to appreciate the finer things in life in favour of the easy things. Instead of listening to a political debate, we rather watch a sitcom; instead of reading a book, we rather read a gossip magazine. Instead of listening to edifying music, we go for bass-enhancing headphones that play songs that provide that extra “oomph”.
Maybe, just maybe, we have become too lazy, too unreflective, too dumb to appreciate art at its finest. In exchange, we ask for mass-produced art that pleases the majority, we pay money for women and men who dress suggestively, who entertain us with lights and action more than they do with the content of their performance. They thrill us, but they fail to move us. They seduce us rather than edify us. In reality, they are no different from a sycophant charming us, blowing kisses to us, caressing us. They win us over with our vanity.
There is good art. We must aspire to learn it, appreciate it, reflect upon it, and celebrate it. Only then do we get to see creativity at work. There’s nothing creative about putting tunes into a mixer and churning out an “easy” tune. There’s nothing creative about losing your pants to make up for your lack of voice. That’s merely a misdirection. The greatest artists composed, painted and wrote to reflect their amazement at such a boundless God. That’s why art required utmost creativity: we are trying to limit a limitless God to a canvas, a stanza, to a bar of crochets and quavers. It’s unique, it provides another perspective, it’s refreshing.
What then is good art? Maybe I can attempt to sketch out a standard. To me, there are two ways that art can be considered good. First – good art requires good craftsmanship. No matter what genre of music one listens to, one would be able to recognise the intricacy of detail in a song. No matter what kind of taste we have, we will recognise the precision and interweaving of a startling amount of elements or perspectives or streams of thought in a painting. That doesn’t mean that we squeeze everything together, neither does it mean that everything that looks or sounds complicated is good; for good art harmonizes all elements into one coherent piece. IT requires foremost that a high degree of skill that a layman cannot aspire to reach without inordinate amounts of effort and failure.
We can then begin to listen for the subtle motifs in text and song, and how they are represented and re-represented throughout a piece of work, sometimes subtlety, sometimes obviously. We can begin to appreciate and isolate different elements in a song that play out in the background, the falling and rising of the tune at certain pivotal moments. We can begin to consider the way words are enunciated, the excellence of the rhyme, or the entire structure of a certain text – what it signals, what expectations it creates in readers, and whether it is resolved or heightened. I believe that in a good speech, piece of writing or music, there is no word or note that is wasted – no note or word that is there to fill the gaps. In good art, every stroke is intentioned by the artist.
The first element of good art is thus, good craftsmanship. Art is difficult, it is a product of meditation and reason and persuasion all the same. It is methodical but also a work of spontaneous creativity. It is my firm belief that the most ethereal manifestations of our imagination can only be expressed by the most excellent craftsmen and women – whether one crafts words or paintings or odes.
But of course, this does not mean that everything good craftspeople produce is a brilliant work of art. The second element of good art, then, must be its ability to invite the commiseration of its audiences, viewers, or admirers. Good art communicates to the observer – it is a form of expression that viewers commiserates with; and therefore, the artist, in imagining that very work, must also commiserate with his admirers. In other words, good art is good because it speaks to its audiences – the author is conveying an experience, sensation, regret, emotion, or something that is all tangled up – something that the audience can relate to. The author is relating to the audience, and the audience relates to the art of the author.
Every piece of sublime art is like an open box that allows us to store a part of ourselves. It inspires us to say, “every time I read/listen to/see this work of art, I think of…” Good art awakens our soul, it refreshes us, encourages us, causes us to think. Good art tells a story, it differentiates itself from the mere plot. It delivers a message, rather than weasel words; a picture, rather than an image. Rather than invoking base desires, good art speaks to a hidden one, rather than glorifying the artist, good art lifts us up and gives us a canvas of our own to imagine and fill and explore. Rather than draw attention to ourselves, good art never lets us settle so easily. It never panders to us, and is never easy to consume – precisely because it requires effort to think.
Must we all then aspire to watch symphonic orchestras? Can we have good art without being pretentious? No, because there will always be people who are unwilling to think for themselves. The truth is – we’ve left most of the hard work to “experts”. In making everything a matter of opinion – we have lost our ability to articulate our own. Even though we say we don’t want standards, we gladly let anything that’s popular dictate our appreciation of art. The market has turned art into a thing to be consumed, not something that requires patience and examination.
But it also doesn’t restrict “good art” to certain classes of people. Art doesn’t need to be expensive to be good. Lots of people go to concerts or pay for good paintings without knowing why they are good in any aspect. Art that stratifies must itself be a kind of creation that panders to certain kinds of people. I suspect that if we all spent time to learn about the story and imagery behind great pieces of art, we would develop a more profound appreciation of good art. And ironically, do you know where plenty of learned people reside? Not in large mansions; but in prison. It’s so laughable that people in prisons are so desperate for any kind of entertainment that they devour books from cover to cover. And yet what about us moderns? We are enchained by the quick, the satisfying, the exciting, the eye-catching. We exchange grand ideas for snippets, paintings for images, wisdom for feel-good messages. No wonder Rousseau famously said: Man is free, but everywhere he is in chains.
Yes, times change, and we acquire different tastes. But never be mistaken that there is good art.
Signing off,
Fatpine.
fatpine 