Screaming
I had a visceral reaction this morning as I read that at least one of the versions of Munch's The Scream was destroyed. It seems to still be a rumor...but a disturbing one to say the least.
The link above goes to an interesting conversation on Metafilter. I actually didn't realize there were people out there who believe that an original piece of artwork, especially one of this level of quality, holds no more intrinsic value than its copies. I know I place a high value on art as compared to the general population, but come on. How can someone who's ever visited a museum actually feel that way.
Part of the argument made is that excessive commercial reproduction somehow cheapens the value of the work of art in any form. Maybe I'm a part of the Munch problem (I did send out Scream Christmas cards a few years ago...because they were awesome, not because I was trying to be cute) but I hardly see how overexposure would make it even a little OK to lose the original. If nothing else, I'd think its more important that people see the original, so they don't confuse the experience of seeing the glossy print or the cheap t-shirt with the experience of seeing the real thing.
Most of the commenters on "my" side, defending the value of the original even in the face of tons of reproductions, focus on the physical characteristics of original artwork (or live musical performance - an interesting tangent started by someone who's clearly never seen anything much live). This is a good argument - it's true - but I think it misses two things. First, and this is addressed in the comments, perfect brushstroke-matching forgeries exist. Over ten years ago, my parents bought a Renior "forgery" created by a computer. It is extremely cool, as it has all the brushstrokes of the original and, as a result, has some of the same presence as the original. But it doesn't have quite the same magic - at least not for me.
And magic is the only way I can describe it, as trite as it sounds. When I look at a painting, especially when I look up close, I always think to myself, "The artist actually touched this. This is where he was standing. He looked at this and thought about what to do next. What did he think about?"
For me, appreciating a painting - really appreciating it - requires establishing that kind of a connection to the artistic genius behind it. That connection draws me into it. The most amazing works of art are ones that engage the audience in just that way - drawing them (me) in and making them (me) feel a part of creation.
As a sidebar, that's how I distinguish between good and bad art (clearly subjectively). I could never look at a Jeff Koons piece and wonder what his inspiration was or try to imagine him at the point of creation. They're too obviously driven by money (from my perspective). But I can look at something created by a minimalist (the Baltimore Museum of Art has a nice room) and feel a connection. It's hard, then, for me to explain to someone else (like my mother), why I consider minimalism (which, admittedly, often looks like nothing) "art," and quality art, at that. It's all about the connection.
I'm beginning to digress, but I'll close with this. One of the Metafilter commenters said something about how cool it would be to ride a Dali-esque roller coaster and visit a Bosch haunted house. Totally agreed. I'd be all over an art-related theme park.
The link above goes to an interesting conversation on Metafilter. I actually didn't realize there were people out there who believe that an original piece of artwork, especially one of this level of quality, holds no more intrinsic value than its copies. I know I place a high value on art as compared to the general population, but come on. How can someone who's ever visited a museum actually feel that way.
Part of the argument made is that excessive commercial reproduction somehow cheapens the value of the work of art in any form. Maybe I'm a part of the Munch problem (I did send out Scream Christmas cards a few years ago...because they were awesome, not because I was trying to be cute) but I hardly see how overexposure would make it even a little OK to lose the original. If nothing else, I'd think its more important that people see the original, so they don't confuse the experience of seeing the glossy print or the cheap t-shirt with the experience of seeing the real thing.
Most of the commenters on "my" side, defending the value of the original even in the face of tons of reproductions, focus on the physical characteristics of original artwork (or live musical performance - an interesting tangent started by someone who's clearly never seen anything much live). This is a good argument - it's true - but I think it misses two things. First, and this is addressed in the comments, perfect brushstroke-matching forgeries exist. Over ten years ago, my parents bought a Renior "forgery" created by a computer. It is extremely cool, as it has all the brushstrokes of the original and, as a result, has some of the same presence as the original. But it doesn't have quite the same magic - at least not for me.
And magic is the only way I can describe it, as trite as it sounds. When I look at a painting, especially when I look up close, I always think to myself, "The artist actually touched this. This is where he was standing. He looked at this and thought about what to do next. What did he think about?"
For me, appreciating a painting - really appreciating it - requires establishing that kind of a connection to the artistic genius behind it. That connection draws me into it. The most amazing works of art are ones that engage the audience in just that way - drawing them (me) in and making them (me) feel a part of creation.
As a sidebar, that's how I distinguish between good and bad art (clearly subjectively). I could never look at a Jeff Koons piece and wonder what his inspiration was or try to imagine him at the point of creation. They're too obviously driven by money (from my perspective). But I can look at something created by a minimalist (the Baltimore Museum of Art has a nice room) and feel a connection. It's hard, then, for me to explain to someone else (like my mother), why I consider minimalism (which, admittedly, often looks like nothing) "art," and quality art, at that. It's all about the connection.
I'm beginning to digress, but I'll close with this. One of the Metafilter commenters said something about how cool it would be to ride a Dali-esque roller coaster and visit a Bosch haunted house. Totally agreed. I'd be all over an art-related theme park.
posted by Kit Pollard at
9:35 AM
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