I could hardly believe it when a friend told me about a new reality show in which artists compete to be the Next Great Artist...Work of Art: Next Great Artist. I was even more surprised that I had arrived in her home on the day that the first episode was airing, that is today.
I have not owned a television since 1995. I know there are good shows being produced but they are few and not sufficiently enticing to require my paying for a television, cable. My experiences of reality television have been brief, mostly due to a horror at the requirement to produce such superficial representations of people's passions, the desire for a spouse, perfect soufle or sensible suit.
The first episode of Work of Art introduced the Executive Producer of the show, Sarah Jessica Parker. Her words of encouragement were offered as the Surprise of the episode, "Be brave. Be competitive. Be yourself." Words of wisdom. Truly. The dry summary of one of the judges: "See, she loves art and that is why we are all here." I could describe in detail other Great Moments or the competitors, the judges, but why bother?
Instead I want to express the confusion as to how to respond to art in a reality tv context. Am I glad that art is being offered as a form of entertainment? Shouldn't people become interested in art and if this is the way, then perhaps that is a good thing? But...NOOOOO! This is appalling. Watching the opening made my skin crawl. This has nothing to do with art. This is a bunch of people producing photographs, silkscreens, drawings, oil painting, watercolor painting, and more without ever discussing the mediums. The focus of the show is not art but the competition. The artists competition with each other is the basis for excitement on the show, not the work production. The biggest snafu on this episode was when the silkscreening balloon burst. Artists may be competitive, but the competition is largely internal and lonely in a studio far from other artists. The show is making little effort to introduce art. To be honest, I do not know what the show is attempting.
The judges mostly discussed the concept of the work the artists produced and little of the quality of production. Is that because they had to produce a portrait in thirteen hours so we should not consider the nature of the mediums? Or is it because the pieces reviewed could only be afforded 30 seconds of time? Paintings are "sexy" or "have a historical context" or present "good moves." One judge said that a portrait is a representation of a person, but the editing did not offer whether she elaborated on that remark. As one artist said to a judge in response to a criticism of her abstract painting, "It's too much of a whisper." Unfortunately, this show whispers nothing about art, indeed screams about nothing at all.
Showing posts with label judge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label judge. Show all posts
Art and Friends
Looking at art with friends can be a revealing and difficult test of the relationship. Making a museum date with a friend can be a great way to catch up with him/her or see an exhibit, but rarely can you accomplish both. A first visit to a show with a friend can reveal that you have very different taste or worse, that you interact with the art in different rhythms. Meeting at an art gallery opening is a guarantee that you will neither see the art nor each other for the crowds standing in front of you no matter where you stand.
Friends go well for a casual art visit. If I kind of want to see the art, or maybe want to know if I am interested in it, then I have a few friends who are good company for a chatty visit.I can see the art briefly and share various relationship and work failures. Successes are always good news and as such they require celebration, which means toasting with a glass of bubbly and listening to all the details- not walking through a room of pictures that are good or bad and demanding my attention. Friends can be great for simple viewing. I once watched two eight year old boys walking through a room of Renaissance oil painting without ever slowing. They sauntered past a very somber painting by an unknown artist of Christ being taken in the night with the statement, "Whoa, that's deep." Two paintings along, still cruising by, they see the Velazquez Infanta Marie Theresa and the other one says, "Her dress is too poofy."
I find that I need to be alone if I want to look at the art, think about it, create a memory that I can retrieve and discuss. One of the best days I had this Spring was a trip up to Boston where I spent a day at the MFA. I got there in the morning and spent the day looking at whatever I wanted to see for as long as I wanted to see it. Some pictures led me to pull out my notebook. Others I walked past. Some made me go back and look at them again several rooms later. I went in no particular order through the museum, entering new rooms where hallways or interest led. At the end of the day, my head was full of ideas and thoughts and I walked back to the hotel seeing everything in a new light.
A more stressful moment was a recent visit to a museum with my new and wonderful beau. We had many long conversations about art, literature, life, love and all the rest of it in the many months preceding this excursion. But how would we do walking through a museum together? In fact, would we have to walk together the whole time? How pressured! As it turned out, we were both inclined to wander and return to the other one, freeing us to linger over one thing, and skip another. Neither of us really studied the exhibit but then neither of us felt that the exhibit called for it. We liked some of the same pieces and discovered that we both enjoy being cruel and cynical critics in confidence. If I were to say much about the pieces, I would have needed to return but overall I think we both determined that we could attend a show together again. At any rate, neither of us revealed such despicable judgment that we ran screaming from each other.
Art and friends, in my opinion, are a delicate balance. Largely, one loses my attention. That being said, I am off to meet a new friend to see a small gallery show that I want to see. Pity that I don't listen to my own advice.
Friends go well for a casual art visit. If I kind of want to see the art, or maybe want to know if I am interested in it, then I have a few friends who are good company for a chatty visit.I can see the art briefly and share various relationship and work failures. Successes are always good news and as such they require celebration, which means toasting with a glass of bubbly and listening to all the details- not walking through a room of pictures that are good or bad and demanding my attention. Friends can be great for simple viewing. I once watched two eight year old boys walking through a room of Renaissance oil painting without ever slowing. They sauntered past a very somber painting by an unknown artist of Christ being taken in the night with the statement, "Whoa, that's deep." Two paintings along, still cruising by, they see the Velazquez Infanta Marie Theresa and the other one says, "Her dress is too poofy."
I find that I need to be alone if I want to look at the art, think about it, create a memory that I can retrieve and discuss. One of the best days I had this Spring was a trip up to Boston where I spent a day at the MFA. I got there in the morning and spent the day looking at whatever I wanted to see for as long as I wanted to see it. Some pictures led me to pull out my notebook. Others I walked past. Some made me go back and look at them again several rooms later. I went in no particular order through the museum, entering new rooms where hallways or interest led. At the end of the day, my head was full of ideas and thoughts and I walked back to the hotel seeing everything in a new light.
A more stressful moment was a recent visit to a museum with my new and wonderful beau. We had many long conversations about art, literature, life, love and all the rest of it in the many months preceding this excursion. But how would we do walking through a museum together? In fact, would we have to walk together the whole time? How pressured! As it turned out, we were both inclined to wander and return to the other one, freeing us to linger over one thing, and skip another. Neither of us really studied the exhibit but then neither of us felt that the exhibit called for it. We liked some of the same pieces and discovered that we both enjoy being cruel and cynical critics in confidence. If I were to say much about the pieces, I would have needed to return but overall I think we both determined that we could attend a show together again. At any rate, neither of us revealed such despicable judgment that we ran screaming from each other.
Art and friends, in my opinion, are a delicate balance. Largely, one loses my attention. That being said, I am off to meet a new friend to see a small gallery show that I want to see. Pity that I don't listen to my own advice.
Not an Art Critic
I am not an art critic. I am, instead, one of those irritating lay people who by virtue of upbringing, education and now preference occasionally impose myself on the art world by observing its current offerings.
I enjoy doing so now but that was not always the case. As a child, I accompanied my parents and their friends to museums, galleries, festivals and street fairs where they looked at art. I was not encouraged to attend but expected to quietly enjoy whatever I did appreciate, though my opinion was largely irrelevant because I was after all just a child. The mysteries of that adult world mingled with their elusive conversations on art and so I find myself some years later having been lured into this obscure world. I have become one of those adults who attends art events, sometimes out of obligation to my continued edification, but usually out of curiosity.
I have not studied art. When I had the option of taking an art history class in high school, I did not because it interfered with a psychology class that I chose to take instead. Despite assorted attempts to teach me how to draw an egg, my drawing still looks like an oblong. In college, I studied philosophy and the history of math. I studied Kant, but now read Ruskin, Whistler, Fry, and others that are suggested or seem fun to read. I note the captions in museum shows I attend and peruse any articles that appear in my favored magazines or newspapers. I occasionally pick up a book at the library or online on this artist, that period or some theory. My interest in art is unformed and seemingly whimsical.
I do, however, care about art. Sometime in my twenties, I discovered that I really enjoy art. I like being able to look at pretty pictures but I also like the experience that perhaps Kant did describe best as the free play of the imagination and understanding. Most of the walls of my humble home may require floor to ceiling book cases but there is always at least one wall that displays the pieces I favor at the moment from my very modest collection of affordable art. I was an artist model for six years and over the many hours of sitting (or standing) in studios listened to all manner of problems various artists encountered in creating art. Mostly I heard them damn the poverty of the art world, including in their monologues: poorly made brushes, the degradation of current art education, and the nihilism that suffuses the ironic tendencies of most modern curators.
I live in one of the art capitols of the world and am regularly insulted by the offerings of this metropolis. After attending the recent Whitney Biennial, I wondered if anyone actually considered what is being displayed. I am not the only person who attends an art museum and questions why I am watching a video made by someone who never studied film. I can't believe that I am the only person who attends a gallery to witness a performance by someone who has never exercised their mind in the history of movement or theater and wonders why. And as someone who studies words and literature, I particularly fail to comprehend why artists think they should present words whose use and history they have never bothered to study and therefore rarely use with the significance possible.
This is not to say that I am incapable of admiring idiot-savant work. I own a piece of outsider art, in fact. I also own other works and one of the worst is a figure drawing (that was given to me) so I am not unconditionally partial to "pretty pictures" or "art you can understand/describe/show my Mormon grandmother." I am not a Luddite but I can suggest that the manufacturing of art has mostly proffered problems. I will declare that it doesn't require an art critic, dealer or curator to tell you what to appreciate, although sometimes they can offer insights that are quite valuable. I can be wrong, misinformed and learn, but I can also argue against inanity.
So this blog is about a young woman- a mere audience member to the art world- who can opine on what she sees (perhaps even reasonably intelligently but certainly for the amusement of her judgment) and, as of today, is rather inclined to do so.
I enjoy doing so now but that was not always the case. As a child, I accompanied my parents and their friends to museums, galleries, festivals and street fairs where they looked at art. I was not encouraged to attend but expected to quietly enjoy whatever I did appreciate, though my opinion was largely irrelevant because I was after all just a child. The mysteries of that adult world mingled with their elusive conversations on art and so I find myself some years later having been lured into this obscure world. I have become one of those adults who attends art events, sometimes out of obligation to my continued edification, but usually out of curiosity.
I have not studied art. When I had the option of taking an art history class in high school, I did not because it interfered with a psychology class that I chose to take instead. Despite assorted attempts to teach me how to draw an egg, my drawing still looks like an oblong. In college, I studied philosophy and the history of math. I studied Kant, but now read Ruskin, Whistler, Fry, and others that are suggested or seem fun to read. I note the captions in museum shows I attend and peruse any articles that appear in my favored magazines or newspapers. I occasionally pick up a book at the library or online on this artist, that period or some theory. My interest in art is unformed and seemingly whimsical.
I do, however, care about art. Sometime in my twenties, I discovered that I really enjoy art. I like being able to look at pretty pictures but I also like the experience that perhaps Kant did describe best as the free play of the imagination and understanding. Most of the walls of my humble home may require floor to ceiling book cases but there is always at least one wall that displays the pieces I favor at the moment from my very modest collection of affordable art. I was an artist model for six years and over the many hours of sitting (or standing) in studios listened to all manner of problems various artists encountered in creating art. Mostly I heard them damn the poverty of the art world, including in their monologues: poorly made brushes, the degradation of current art education, and the nihilism that suffuses the ironic tendencies of most modern curators.
I live in one of the art capitols of the world and am regularly insulted by the offerings of this metropolis. After attending the recent Whitney Biennial, I wondered if anyone actually considered what is being displayed. I am not the only person who attends an art museum and questions why I am watching a video made by someone who never studied film. I can't believe that I am the only person who attends a gallery to witness a performance by someone who has never exercised their mind in the history of movement or theater and wonders why. And as someone who studies words and literature, I particularly fail to comprehend why artists think they should present words whose use and history they have never bothered to study and therefore rarely use with the significance possible.
This is not to say that I am incapable of admiring idiot-savant work. I own a piece of outsider art, in fact. I also own other works and one of the worst is a figure drawing (that was given to me) so I am not unconditionally partial to "pretty pictures" or "art you can understand/describe/show my Mormon grandmother." I am not a Luddite but I can suggest that the manufacturing of art has mostly proffered problems. I will declare that it doesn't require an art critic, dealer or curator to tell you what to appreciate, although sometimes they can offer insights that are quite valuable. I can be wrong, misinformed and learn, but I can also argue against inanity.
So this blog is about a young woman- a mere audience member to the art world- who can opine on what she sees (perhaps even reasonably intelligently but certainly for the amusement of her judgment) and, as of today, is rather inclined to do so.
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