The Secret Life of an Artist
There is an abandoned building near Iroquois Ontario that says, "I love Christine Kirkwood by Cole". Sometimes it's difficult to know what's important, but this message has stayed with me like a favorite poem. Christine Kirkwood sounds very beautiful and I think Cole uses all of Christine's name so he can call up her complete and perfect idea. If he knew her middle initial, that would be part of the conjuring as well, “Christine J. Kirkwood”. But sadly, just as their names are not equal, their relationship may not be a matter of equals either. Christine Kirkwood might not love Cole, she may not like him, or even know who he is.
I also find the word, "by" in "I love Christine Kirkwood by Cole" very significant. It is definitely childlike, but it also reveals an important truth. "I love Christine Kirkwood" is the title of a greater work by Cole, not just a simple statement of fact. Our feelings involve the whole of us, all of our bodies, including our nasal passages and bowels, and no matter how sophisticated we become, we can never produce an expression that’s faithful to a state of our selves.
As the painter Ad Reinhardt said in Art as Art, The Selected Writings of Ad Reinhardt, “Expression is an impossible word.”(fn1) Loving Christine Kirkwood is so much more than can ever be said. The most that can be done to touch another person is to render our own experience as best we can, and hope our attempt is examined by a steadfast interpreter. But for the most part, we remain alone with our secrets and needs. As Mark Twain said in Mark My Words, “What a wee little part of a person’s life are his acts and his words! His real life is led in his head, and is known to none but himself. … Biographies are but the clothes and buttons of the man – the biography of the man himself cannot be written.”(fn2)
Artists are like Cole: Self-expression is extremely difficult and when it’s done intentionally, may not be possible in any direct way beyond a banal statement of fact such as claiming to love Christine Kirkwood. Outside of a long term relationship, there’s simply too much to be said, and too many things to be done, before someone can feel known. Self expression requires time and a community. Self-portraiture, on the other hand, is very easily accomplished. In the visual arts, self portraits are actually called self portraits and in literature there are autobiographies and memoirs, and none of these things are terribly complicated. But in addition, I contend there is also unintentional self expression or self portraiture, as opposed to the intentional things mentioned above, and this is a much more revealing, more true-to-life self portrait than any conventional self portrait has ever been. It's the secret place where poetry comes from. Cole, in all his naiveté, has shown me this: Cole’s “by” has revealed that a simple statement of fact becomes significant and expressive by dint of its form. He inadvertently wrote a title for a greater work that will probably never be written or witnessed, a confession of yearning.
I am drawn to art and the inklings it produces. Contemplating a work of art brings me closer to both myself and the world because art occasionally breaks the shells around my thoughts. When that happens, my separations are reduced and that is most certainly for the better. As Leonard Cohen says in Anthem, “There is a crack, a crack in everything / That’s how the light gets in.” I pursue things well said, done, chosen, framed, designed, composed, put together, spaced, and timed. I know that to say a thing is well done will cause me some problems as if I were implying an oppressive absolute standard of some sort. And I also know there are things much more efficient than art for improving the world. Efficiency is important in contexts such as health and justice, but in the context of art, efficiency is inadequate and improving the world is inadequate. Only the well-done is sufficient. I won’t give anything a pass as art merely because of its politics or sympathies. As Ad Reinhardt further said, “Art is art, everything else is everything else”(fn3).
It may just be faux arrogance, but I always reserve the right to declare an artifact good or bad, interesting or boring, and that is non-negotiable. Many artists are probably arrogant in this way - it’s fun to be the Sun King, either pleased or displeased. I think we all have standards, many of which we are unaware of. I also believe that the appearance of things is very important, and to redeem this seemingly shallow claim, I would add that there is nothing other than appearances for us to work with. There is also a moral component involved. For example, there is a moral problem concerning self expression/portraiture. Self-flattery, and dishonesty make bad art, there is no escape from that. I agree with Oscar Wilde when he wrote in “The Decay of Lying”, "The only form of lying that is absolutely beyond reproach is Lying for its own sake, and the highest development of this ... is Lying in Art."(fn4) The lying I dislike, the reprehensible lying, is the attempt to flatter or enrich oneself. That is most certainly not lying for its own sake. It is also not “Lying in Art”, but instead, lying with art. Cole did not lie, his innocent honesty touched me.
In an interview in the Paris Review the French novelist and essayist Nathalie Sarraute said, “Form and content are the same thing. If you take a certain form, you attain a certain content with that form, not any other.”(fn5) This might seem like a fancy literary statement that doesn’t actually say very much, but the example of Cole is proof that there is something of value here. I realize it’s probably impossible to create a viable new literary form based on confounding the body of a work with its title as Cole has done with his “by”. But nonetheless, the content of Cole’s writing would never emerge without that form. Cole’s form and content were completely unintentional, and the unintended and accidental is something we need to look into a little further.
When someone makes something, that artifact is accompanied by an imaginary someone who is plausible as the person who made that something. This is not the artist. This is an image of the artist in the mind of the viewer. The writer-person who you may be starting to imagine as you read my words is a good example of a plausible imaginary someone. My thoughts on Cole are also an example. Artists are thoroughly aware of the fact that their work reflects on their person, and you can’t fault someone for wanting to put their best foot forward. Mallarmé puts a positive spin on this in Selected Prose Poems, Essays, & Letters when he said, “When the artist sits down to write, he makes himself.”(fn6)
Artists can manipulate the image of themselves to help them appear clever, or innovative, or whatever it is they want for themselves, but no one can be a perfect manipulator. I’m sure it’s very difficult to appear more intelligent than you actually are, not to mention compassionate, generous, insightful, and so on. The world is full of people who prove this point. They are in pulpits, politics, professorships, and everywhere else. The image of the artist that becomes apparent in a work of art is only partially the portrait the artist desires and could well include both qualities the artist does not possess, as well as qualities the artist would rather keep concealed. A diligent interpreter may detect errors and oversights by way of the artist’s unintentional self expression, and the discovery of an artist's possible mendacity would also be an encounter with bad art, just as the discovery of sincerity would be an encounter with better art. Friedrich Nietzsche says that reading a philosopher's works uncovers the character or moral health of that philosopher. Unfortunately, I do not remember where he said that, possibly it was just my take-away from his essay Schopenhauer as Educator. Nonetheless, I am saying something similar about art and artists.
All art is situated on a circular continuum from good to mediocre to clueless to bad and then back to good. The good and the bad are connected because they are both interesting. Interesting is a very art-school way to say good, and interesting is also the most tactful way to also say, “I think any conversation we might have about this work could easily become awkward”. At any rate, I need to start by saying a thing or two about bad art. It’s unfortunate that I can never escape from all the bad art the world has to offer due to its great abundance, but a small consolation is found in what I take to be the insidious intentions of any artists responsible for bad art: The contempt they invite, and my sense of moral superiority is satisfying, to some extent like the bitter laughter from being disappointed exactly as you expected to be. But this can never measure up to the delight in art well done. I try to avoid bad art for my own well-being: Certain galleries should never be entered and certain media should never be opened.
But I can’t ignore bad art when I have the misfortune to encounter it. Once again I return to Ad Reinhardt, “Some artists are better than others. Some artists have less clear consciences. Some artists get no chances to become corrupt. No artist is guiltless.”(fn7) I truly believe that bad art is bad for you, bad art is dangerous and unhealthy, and it gets my blood up. When I don’t like a particular artwork, I usually despise it. I don’t have much middle ground in this area. There’s nothing like faults in a work of art to start me impugning the author, looking for guilt, looking for arrogance, incompetence, dishonesty, malfeasance, pandering, prevarication, guile, perfidy, or at the very least, a lack of decorum. The guilt usually jumps right out and the bad in bad art will find its way back to the artist. I find that inevitable.
There is less to be said about the mediocre, or cluelessness for that matter, in all its gormless splendour. Sometimes the clueless can be charming or beautiful, mostly by accident of course - think of Cole in this regard. As a disability, cluelessness is always blameless and should be accommodated. If someone can’t find their own voice, perhaps they should be in a different line of work, but I don’t begrudge them anything - may they enjoy their art, may they improve, may peace be with them. They are harmless. The mediocre however, would be better off if they didn’t have the scraps of knowledge they possess, in other words, they would be better off clueless. The problem is, mediocre art is not harmless, it has a terrible influence on the clueless as they darkly bump around countless possible influences without the guidance of a criterion to make a useful judgment. All the same, I don’t feel as fierce about mediocre art as I do about bad art. I suppose this is because mediocre art holds about as much interest for me as filling out forms in a government office. I rarely even notice mediocre art. It’s a thorough waste of time and I have built up perceptual defences against it. I can walk briskly through an art gallery with mediocre art being indistinguishable from light switches and baseboards until I suddenly find myself stopped by something of interest, either good or bad. And one more thing: Sometimes I might call bad art mediocre. The reason is simple: It’s more of an insult that way.
There can be many explanations for bad art, and many excuses for good art. If I am very fond of an artist’s work, there’s a good chance I will immediately imagine an artist I am equally fond of. Also, if I like the work and I don’t like the artist’s ideas, then I don’t have any problem finding the artist’s intentions completely irrelevant. For example, Mondrian’s belief that Theosophy could inform his painting was an idea I don’t really admire, so it’s a good thing that’s irrelevant. And I say this somewhat glibly because I recognize an inconsistency in my thinking. I’m happy to imagine that of all the things Mondrian probably considered significant in the creation of his own work, it is only Theosophy that I consider irrelevant as if I had special access to a transcendental view of Mondrian’s thought processes and the right to judge. I have special permission as an artist though, and therefore, as a professional looker, any relevant factors are actually all about me and my work. It’s entirely up to me whether anything that is not physically present in the work of art, things like intentions and imagined artists should be included in a judgment. As an artist, the work of others is only worth considering if it is useful. I am not doing aesthetics, criticism, or art history, I am doing art and therefore context, objectivity, and understanding are irrelevant. It's all the equivalent of stains on the wall.
To clarify my point, the example of Mondrian is about the ideas that the artist used to create the work itself, and not about other ideas that the artist might have entertained. Thus this whole discussion is circling around the issue as to whether we need to make a global assessment of someone’s work, given they are known, or discovered to be a racist, sexual predator, or any other thing we might find despicable. For example, I don’t think Wagner’s music is necessarily bad because he was antisemitic, but his antisemitism was no doubt part of a cluster of ideas that may well have blemished his efforts. I really don’t have the expertise to offer a useful opinion about Wagner as music is not my field, but it’s worth mentioning that Nietzsche broke with Wagner over this very issue, as well as Wagner’s turn towards Christian themes, as two ideas are tightly linked together. I give all of this credence but I am unable to specify any formal flaws in Wagner’s music on account of it. Schoenberg however, had great respect for Wagner’s music and since this was a professional opinion, I think it carries greater weight than Nietzsche. Like me, Schoenberg wasn’t being objective either, he just found Wagner’s music useful. With visual art, my opinions are much more robust than they are with music, and thus the problem of bad art and bad people is more urgent for me. It threatens my expertise.
We have snuck up on the issues surrounding the comedians Louis CK and Bill Cosby, as well as the latest news about the Canadian writer Alice Munro. The revelations that have surfaced about them have seriously damaged their public personas, probably more so than it would have been for a composer or painter because comedy and literature require a stronger, trusting imaginary relationship with the artist. Comedy and stories are very delicate. When personal respect is gone, it’s difficult for the work to stand on its own and remain effective, funny, or intimate. The consumer feels betrayed.
There’s another fine point to consider here: Louis CK’s comedy was often about the conflicted nature of shameful acts, and it has come to light that the truly insightful nature of his work may have been due to his substituting things he didn’t do for the things he did do. His brilliant understanding of shame is profound. Cosby’s family-friendly, wholesome work was completely different, and even though it may not be justified, Cosby’s betrayal of my trust seems a longer drop, and feels less forgivable. Although I must say that they are not entirely equivalent: Cosby’s acts were more invasive and they sent him to prison. I suspect that professional comedians probably find these revelations of bad behaviour more fraught than I do. Comedians are more likely conflicted because from a professional point of view, there is much to admire in the work of Cosby and Louis CK. It’s easier for me, I’m not a comedian, I’m just a member of the audience. And for me, Munro is merely sad news, I confess I've never read her work so any betrayal will be merely hearsay.
Visual art is somewhat different because the viewer’s imaginary relationship with the artist is usually less intense. Jackson Pollock was a drunken philanderer but I don’t see how these weaknesses affected his painting. A cloud of suspicion hangs over Carl Andre regarding the death of his wife in 1985 to the point that there have been protests at some of his exhibitions. But regardless of guilt or innocence, I don’t see how this could affect my reception of his work, although it certainly stood to make it more awkward. When I heard about the allegations of murder that were circulating, I was troubled about admiring the work if the allegations were ever proven true because in part, I suspected I would continue to find the work interesting. Decades later, a friend pulled a book from his impressive library and showed me images of sculptures made of large timbers by Aleksander Rodchenko. This work predates Andre by about forty years, and the obvious debt he seems to owe to Rodchenko is very relevant to my judgment. It removes about seventy percent of my worry because it makes it more about the art and less about the artist. If Pollock and Andre were comedians or actors famous for wholesome characters, or involved in some art such as writing that requires a great deal of empathy on the part of the viewer, their careers would have experienced a lot more trouble than they ever did.
Everyone is disappointing sometimes, in fact I frequently disappoint myself, but to my great relief, there is still interesting art in the world. There are personal failings that are irrelevant to the production of art as well as failings that can ruin it. And a final point: I have also made sculptures from large timbers and they owe a debt to both Rodchenko and Andre. One of them is actually called Rodchenko’s Column, and I also made two small paintings on plywood called The Rodchenko-Purina Series numbers 1 and 2. Early in my career I occasionally declared my influences in the title of a work. After all, you only gain your own voice when you know who you listened to.
Part Two in the next post
image at top, Steve Armstrong, Rodchenko’s Column, acrylic on wood (railway crossing plank)
Image at bottom, Steve Armstrong, Rodchenko-Purina Series, oil on wood
I love footnotes. They feel anachronistic don’t they? But they also point the way to BAI facts (Before Artificial Intelligence). These are things that were said.