Writing Assignments: Art History 111
Out of particulars
Rolling up the sum
By defective means…
William Carlos Williams
The discipline of art history is dependent
upon precise, careful hard looking at works of art, a process that often
requires equivalently precise, eloquent, persuasive writing. At the university, you are expected to be
able to write with proficiency, fluidity, correctness and verve upon your
entry. These exercises are meant to
develop your skills in turning those abilities to works of visual richness and
deep cultural meaning. They’re also
meant to train you in a skill far less well-taught than writing: looking.
Research suggests that even museum goers who
characterized themselves as “regular”, “devoted” or “committed” visitors and
“art lovers” spent, on average less than three seconds in front of any
single art work. In addition, they were
observed to spend more time reading the wall labels than looking at the
art work. At the recent Art Institute
of Chicago megashow, Van Gogh and Gauguin, approximately 20% of visitors
had difficulty determining the difference between the original paintings and
large-scale posters with reproductions and text.
As museums increasingly sequester their major
paintings behind glass and keep viewers at a distance, as “audio tours”
increasingly intrude upon and replace actual observation and passionate
immersion in the artwork, these trends will only continue.
But not in this class!
When you go to look at objects in museums in
Chicago and elsewhere, remember, the museum is there to serve you. Remember also that the art objects on
display may be there to intimidate, impress, or instruct you, but almost
certainly those were not the original intentions of the artist or the original
uses of the work.
Things you can do:
Get up close. Surface, in a painting, work of sculpture or even a building,
contains the most direct residue of the artist; this epithelial layer is full of pain, exultation, doubt,
assertiveness. You can get some idea of
the artist’s relationship to the work by looking at, and dissecting, the
residues of brush strokes, darkroom chemistry, the whack of the mallet against
the chisel.
Don’t be afraid of crowding up to the
object. I’ve been thrown out of the
most prestigious museums of America, Europe and Japan for standing too
close—but how else can you look at the thing?
Bring those reading glasses, even a magnifying glass (an old Boy Scout
one works really well). Look up from
below, look across the surface. Treat
it as a topographical map. Look at the
color imbedded in the brush strokes.
See the whole. Often we walk around an object, consuming it in parts, because
there are people around who stood in the way.
Be patient. Composition,
structure, illusion: all these are
meant to assert themselves at a certain distance, whence one sees the work
entire.
Read the labels. Hell: they’re there, and
they’ve got info. They’re often also
the places where you get the instructions, the patronizing tone, the
dismissal. It’s worth noting that
quality. To what level is the label
directed? But don’t let that tone
affect you—grab the information and go.
Look at the larger collection. At most museums, art objects have been carefully arranged in
their rooms to reflect important ideas, to stimulate comparisons, to clarify
historical periods or contrast them. Be
sure to notice.
Interrogate everything! You are neither a passive observer nor a matter-of-fact
expert. Your greatest tool is your
ability to ask questions of the objects, the setting, the museum. Why those frames? Why that date? Why oil
and not tempera? Other people around
you might be full to overflowing with interesting ideas. And don’t forget the guards.
Admit to it:
It’s exhausting. Two rooms, a couple of
buildings, are about all you can really do.
Probably you’re better off with two or three pieces, a couple of
facades. After that, you’re toast. Go read the funnies, look at the armor, the
other people’s museum-going costumes, the absurd prices in the museum
refreshment stand. Then come back.
Indulge yourself. Hey: there are guilty
pleasures. The Thorne Miniature
Rooms. The Andy Warhol of Mao. The Armor.
They’re part of the visual culture in which we live. Someone put them in the museum. Go go.
Similarly with the emotions. Some works are flagrantly meant to infuriate
(the Ellsworth Kelly pieces on the walls of the American wing upstairs and in
the back) or to offer sentiment and respite, or propaganda. Let your responses come; just interrogate them, study them, take
responsibility for them. They’re yours. Own them.
They aren’t the artwork’s, or the artist’s. Don’t confuse response, especially personal
response, with “reality.” But don’t
deny, ignore, or reject those responses.
They’re part of the intended or unintended transactions that artworks
create.
Buildings are different, but the same general
rules apply. When you study architecture, you are more
pointedly thinking about patron, about function, about context, about
materials, than you tend to do when looking at a painting. This is good. But remember you’re also looking at a plastic visual artifact, a
product of formal properties that are waiting to be teased out: the massiveness of the stone, the airiness
of the windows, the authority of the doors.
Consider this an adventure. It is.
Peter Hales
January 23, 2002