In a word...no.
Recently, I led a devotion around an image found in Evangelical Lutheran Worship, the hymnal of the ELCA. I interpreted several layers of meaning, showing that a picture is indeed worth a thousand words...perhaps more. A member of the council remarked: "All of that is in this picture?" I answered affirmatively. Then, he asked (and this one I paraphrase), "Did the artist intend all of that or did you make it up?" I responded that I was using Christian theology to help interpret the complex image. I also mentioned that one should never trust an artist to interpret his or her own work. I did not explain this last comment at the time, and so I feel compelled to treat the matter now. Thus, here is the defense of my right to have an understanding and a relationship with the artwork outside of any relationship to the artist.
First of all, it will be helpful to discuss what an artwork is, in and of itself. Any thinker in the field of fine art will tell you that art defies definition. I do not propose a definition of art here. Rather, I wish to present one of the qualities of the phenomenon of art. In other words, I wish to assert one of the rights (or if you prefer, privileges) bestowed upon a work once it is considered art.
An artwork has peculiarity. In the process of doing art, the artist takes something that is within him or her and objectifies that something--whether it is an idea or a perspective or a feeling or any other internal thought or mood. Once objectified, however, the artwork becomes its own peculiar phenomenon. Though still an inanimate object, it is an object that is no longer subject to the artist alone. I, as the audience, can approach the artwork singularly, as an object in the world, and respond to it myself--just as I would respond to a sunset or some beautiful vista. Put simply, once the artwork is an object, the artist must needs let it go.
A theological perspective may be helpful here: In the act of art, human beings come closest to doing what God does, namely create. Whatever the art-form, when we form art, we are participating in creation, we become co-creators, since we have added something new and peculiar to the creation God has made. An artwork, then, becomes a creature (in the most literal sense of the word--I am not saying that the artwork takes on any sort of animate life, merely that it becomes "something created"). And, as with any other creature, I can approach and relate to that creature without mediation from another.
Furthermore the interpretation of art is a subjective task. Taste in art is subjective. I can listen to a piece of music or look at a painting, and I will have a reaction to it--and an interpretation of it--even if I know nothing about the author or composer. Now, I will admit that there are some objective aesthetic reactions to art. That is, there are some things that will be beautiful to the majority of humans--symmetry, the golden ratio, etc. Some things are just ugly. But each person's reaction to these objective traits will be different--and wholly subjective. Some, although they admit that a work of art is ugly, will absolutely love said work of art. Meanwhile, for others the ugliness will be a turn off.
The objectified artwork is also separated from the subject of the work. And once objectified in this way, the audience is able to approach it subjectively. For instance, I have a rather large coffee table book about the painter Rafael. In it are many of his portraits and sketches of individuals. I do not need to know who the individual is in order to decide whether or not I like the work of art--and I will display it based on my subjective opinion. Now, I will concede that knowing some of the history behind the artwork, even knowing some of the artist's intentions in the artwork can help me to appreciate the work more (or less), however, these perspectives are not necessary. In fact, they are sometimes unhelpful.
I find that an artist can always be depended upon to interpret their own work too narrowly. So selfishly do they hold on to their work after it is completed, that they want to control how others approach the work. In this way, they limit the possibilities of interpretation, and they prevent the work of art from becoming a peculiar object. Instead, the artist wants the work to remain as a personal, subjective thing subsumed under their own subjective personality alone. One would think that the highest goal of the artist would be to create something that could stand on its own before the onlooking public.
Besides, it is said in interpersonal relationships, that no matter what the intended communication, whatever the listener hears is what is communicated. If I poke fun at someone, even if it is light-hearted, if they are offended, then I offended them. If after an argument with a friend or significant other, I decide to give them space so that we both might cool down, if they interpret that silence as anger or simmering grudge, then I have communicated that I am still angry--not that I was trying to respect their feelings! In the same way, whatever the artist intends, is not always what is communicated. Nor should the artist so debilitatingly limit the effect their work might have. Letting the artist, or anyone else, tell you what a work of art must mean only takes away your freedom--your right to encounter objects in the world as your own self. Don't let them! You can do more and better than they can!
I must say a word here about art critics. Each word flowing from a critic of art must be seasoned with a grain of salt. Critics can be helpful, but only as far as artists are helpful in the interpretation of art--and no farther. Critics are third party mediators between the artwork and the audience. In fact, they are even more removed. As I have argued, the artist is a third party entity that tries to wedge his or her way between me and the artwork. A critic, then, is a fourth party. Why do we have critics? Any time you have a pursuit that stands to make money (particularly large amounts) the industry needs mediators. Critics are like beauty pageant judges. They have the authority to choose the official winner, the one who is officially the most beautiful inwardly and outwardly. However, we do not need the beauty pageant judge to tell us whether or not our spouse is beautiful inwardly and outwardly--and OUR first choice in these categories.
A critic may tell me that there are better works of art than Rafael's School of Athens, but that is my favorite painting nonetheless. Critics are merely the industry's experts. Critics are trained and practiced in looking at the history of art, discerning the various styles and techniques, and judging a work based on these categories. Because of this training and practice, critics can be helpful, but the artwork loses nothing by discounting these commentators.
When one sits before a work of art, then, each person becomes their own critic (with varying degrees of discernment and technical knowledge). And this is quite all right.
In freedom, I judge a work of art using my own measures. When I encounter a work of art, I am required to make some meaning out of it--that is my task as the audience. In this way every person is an artist! For there is a certain art to interpretation. An artist sits down to look at a nature scene, and paints an interpretation of that scene. So, too, a common person who appreciates art sits down on a bench in an art museum and paints a mental picture interpreting what he or she sees. I do not need an artist telling me how to take meaning out of their artwork, I must do that myself. Besides, they already tried to tell me--through the artwork itself. Ought the artwork not stand on its own?
Therefore, it is not just my freedom at stake, but the freedom of the peculiar object--the work of art. An artwork is dead when no new interpretations are met in it because the artist and the critics have interpreted it to death. An artwork yet lives when it can freely communicate, that is, be freely approached and interpreted by the people who encounter it.
Artists, take a sabbath day, and let your work of art work for itself. We don't need help appreciating your labors of love.
First of all, it will be helpful to discuss what an artwork is, in and of itself. Any thinker in the field of fine art will tell you that art defies definition. I do not propose a definition of art here. Rather, I wish to present one of the qualities of the phenomenon of art. In other words, I wish to assert one of the rights (or if you prefer, privileges) bestowed upon a work once it is considered art.
An artwork has peculiarity. In the process of doing art, the artist takes something that is within him or her and objectifies that something--whether it is an idea or a perspective or a feeling or any other internal thought or mood. Once objectified, however, the artwork becomes its own peculiar phenomenon. Though still an inanimate object, it is an object that is no longer subject to the artist alone. I, as the audience, can approach the artwork singularly, as an object in the world, and respond to it myself--just as I would respond to a sunset or some beautiful vista. Put simply, once the artwork is an object, the artist must needs let it go.
A theological perspective may be helpful here: In the act of art, human beings come closest to doing what God does, namely create. Whatever the art-form, when we form art, we are participating in creation, we become co-creators, since we have added something new and peculiar to the creation God has made. An artwork, then, becomes a creature (in the most literal sense of the word--I am not saying that the artwork takes on any sort of animate life, merely that it becomes "something created"). And, as with any other creature, I can approach and relate to that creature without mediation from another.
Furthermore the interpretation of art is a subjective task. Taste in art is subjective. I can listen to a piece of music or look at a painting, and I will have a reaction to it--and an interpretation of it--even if I know nothing about the author or composer. Now, I will admit that there are some objective aesthetic reactions to art. That is, there are some things that will be beautiful to the majority of humans--symmetry, the golden ratio, etc. Some things are just ugly. But each person's reaction to these objective traits will be different--and wholly subjective. Some, although they admit that a work of art is ugly, will absolutely love said work of art. Meanwhile, for others the ugliness will be a turn off.
The objectified artwork is also separated from the subject of the work. And once objectified in this way, the audience is able to approach it subjectively. For instance, I have a rather large coffee table book about the painter Rafael. In it are many of his portraits and sketches of individuals. I do not need to know who the individual is in order to decide whether or not I like the work of art--and I will display it based on my subjective opinion. Now, I will concede that knowing some of the history behind the artwork, even knowing some of the artist's intentions in the artwork can help me to appreciate the work more (or less), however, these perspectives are not necessary. In fact, they are sometimes unhelpful.
I find that an artist can always be depended upon to interpret their own work too narrowly. So selfishly do they hold on to their work after it is completed, that they want to control how others approach the work. In this way, they limit the possibilities of interpretation, and they prevent the work of art from becoming a peculiar object. Instead, the artist wants the work to remain as a personal, subjective thing subsumed under their own subjective personality alone. One would think that the highest goal of the artist would be to create something that could stand on its own before the onlooking public.
Besides, it is said in interpersonal relationships, that no matter what the intended communication, whatever the listener hears is what is communicated. If I poke fun at someone, even if it is light-hearted, if they are offended, then I offended them. If after an argument with a friend or significant other, I decide to give them space so that we both might cool down, if they interpret that silence as anger or simmering grudge, then I have communicated that I am still angry--not that I was trying to respect their feelings! In the same way, whatever the artist intends, is not always what is communicated. Nor should the artist so debilitatingly limit the effect their work might have. Letting the artist, or anyone else, tell you what a work of art must mean only takes away your freedom--your right to encounter objects in the world as your own self. Don't let them! You can do more and better than they can!
I must say a word here about art critics. Each word flowing from a critic of art must be seasoned with a grain of salt. Critics can be helpful, but only as far as artists are helpful in the interpretation of art--and no farther. Critics are third party mediators between the artwork and the audience. In fact, they are even more removed. As I have argued, the artist is a third party entity that tries to wedge his or her way between me and the artwork. A critic, then, is a fourth party. Why do we have critics? Any time you have a pursuit that stands to make money (particularly large amounts) the industry needs mediators. Critics are like beauty pageant judges. They have the authority to choose the official winner, the one who is officially the most beautiful inwardly and outwardly. However, we do not need the beauty pageant judge to tell us whether or not our spouse is beautiful inwardly and outwardly--and OUR first choice in these categories.
A critic may tell me that there are better works of art than Rafael's School of Athens, but that is my favorite painting nonetheless. Critics are merely the industry's experts. Critics are trained and practiced in looking at the history of art, discerning the various styles and techniques, and judging a work based on these categories. Because of this training and practice, critics can be helpful, but the artwork loses nothing by discounting these commentators.
When one sits before a work of art, then, each person becomes their own critic (with varying degrees of discernment and technical knowledge). And this is quite all right.
In freedom, I judge a work of art using my own measures. When I encounter a work of art, I am required to make some meaning out of it--that is my task as the audience. In this way every person is an artist! For there is a certain art to interpretation. An artist sits down to look at a nature scene, and paints an interpretation of that scene. So, too, a common person who appreciates art sits down on a bench in an art museum and paints a mental picture interpreting what he or she sees. I do not need an artist telling me how to take meaning out of their artwork, I must do that myself. Besides, they already tried to tell me--through the artwork itself. Ought the artwork not stand on its own?
Therefore, it is not just my freedom at stake, but the freedom of the peculiar object--the work of art. An artwork is dead when no new interpretations are met in it because the artist and the critics have interpreted it to death. An artwork yet lives when it can freely communicate, that is, be freely approached and interpreted by the people who encounter it.
Artists, take a sabbath day, and let your work of art work for itself. We don't need help appreciating your labors of love.
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