Kandinsky was a Russian painter and theorist. In the introduction of the book it explains that at this time, modern artists were beginning to understand that their obligation to society was to be a "spiritual teacher to the world". On page 26 he says, "The spiritual life, to which art belongs and of which she is one of the mightiest elements, is a complicated but definite and easily definable movement forwards and upwards. This movement is the movement of experience. It may take up different forms, but it holds at the bottom to the same inner thought and purpose." He was primarily concerned with the painter's inner experience creating what is in a painting. He compares the "life of the spirit" to a triangle. On the bottom of page 29 the note 3 poses interesting questions such as, "Is everything material? Or is everything spiritual? Is whatever cannot be touched with the hand spiritual?" In the Spiritual Revolution section, page 36, Kandinsky says, "Every age achieves a certain measure of freedom, but beyond the boundaries of its freedom the mightiest genius can never go. But the measure of freedom of each age must constantly be enlarged." I think here he is explaining how one cannot go outside of the level of consciousness of that time, but each period of time the freedom of ideas gets a little bit more enlarged and opened to new thoughts and spiritual growth.
When you see the color of a palette in a painting, immediately one "receives a purely physical impression", which can be one of pleasure but it is a short superficial impression. He goes on to says that, "Only the impressions caused by very familiar objects, will be purely superficial" (43). The second result of looking at colors is their psychic effect, where the colors produce a spiritual vibration which is "one of the guiding principles of the inner need". Inner need= impulse felt by artist for spiritual expression, to set art free. (45)
Kandinsky says that, "If we begin at once to break the bonds which bind up to nature, and devote ourselves purely to combination of pure color an abstract form, we shall produce works which are mere decoration, which as suited to neckties or carpets." (67/68)I think about decoration and adornment a lot in my own work so my question for you is, What do you think about Kandinsky's critique and praise of what he claims to be mere decoration and do you agree with what he says? Here he is explaining that there is no "inner need" in decoration because many of the used patterns are from a different time that do not concern the contemporary culture.
The discussion on “purposive intentions” in this chapter is part
of Frankl’s broader discourse on the methodology for architectural
analysis taking into consideration social functions as well as spatial, visual,
and corporeal form. Frankl explains the social effects of experiencing architecture by
identifying buildings’ social functions (“purposive intentions”) and
attributing the building program with a significant cultural role. The “intention”
of the building program, therefore, is according to Frankl at the foundation of
the architectural and social traditions of a given culture. And as buildings
assume the function of "molded theaters of human activities," the
human activities (social interaction) they are designed to embody (expressed in
the building program) become the essential elements in determining their
"life" and in providing tools for the interpretation of their
meaning.
Frankl attempted to include human intention (and activities) in
the study of architecture, where the history of the building program becomes part
of cultural history providing a bridge between "art and life." According
to Frankl, the interpretation of social interactions occurring in buildings parallels
to the reading of a painting’s iconology.
And human activities, because they are the architectural program’s most
essential elements, are to be used for the reading of a building’s iconology. Such
iconology in architecture, therefore, is culturally dependent, and inexorably changes
along with changes in society and it is lost with changes in building use.
The “purposive intention,” Frankl explains, consists in “the
practical and material certainty of purpose that determines the building
program and hence the spatial form.” The “purpose” of the building program, according
to Frankl, together with other functional characteristics of the building (such
as construction and architectural features specific of a particular building
type), provides the means for its understanding in special cultural or historic
circumstances.[1] Determined
by two overlapping networks that are respectively the "soul" and the
"mind" of the building program, the "purpose" determines
the movement throughout space and gives the space its meaning. It forms the
fixed arena for groups’ interaction prescribed in the building program by
determining the logic of circulation, the actions and their specific duration.[2]
Frankl categorizes the concept of architectural “purposive
intention” by observing its variation within four chronological phases
historically significant in the emergence and development of architectural
building programs. He attempts to exemplify throughout the cultural
changes happening within these four phases, the cultural history and
significance of the “purposive intention;” in order to discern the most
important bridges connecting the dead spatial forms with contemporary patterns
of life and to show that these patterns are different in each phase. He explains
the significance of the cultural characteristics of each phase in the shaping
of the building program of secular and religious architecture, and the
influence of ideologies and belief in the emergence of divergent attitudes
towards the conception of architectural space and styles. According to Frankl,
the type of decorative elements in secular buildings, as well as their
organization of space and forms has developed accordingly to the specific
cultural influences of each phase. And it is exemplified in secular and religious
architecture by the distinct and sometime contrasting interactions between the
sacred, the patron, and the individual, making secular buildings into places of
distinguished social activities, shaped and directed by the two overlapping
functional networks.
[1] In situations when the program is hard to
understand because of cultural or historic circumstances-buildings typical of
other cultures or used for functions different from those for which they were
originally planned.
[2] The two networks
determining the "purpose" of the building are generated by the
sequence of spaces made up of centerlines and points and in the position and
arrangements of furnishing and presence or absence of decorations.
This is a flash game, where the player uses various therapeutic methods to resolve each stuffed animals' aliment. When we started the class discussing Freud and Gestalt, it reminded me of this. Enjoy! PS Gotta love that awesome photograph of Freud watching over you as you try to help your patients.
Life is organic existence and aesthetic enjoyment applied by the two concepts of naturalism and style. Thus, art is objectified enjoyment.
Thus, "a great deal of mischief is wrought with the group of letters that spell 'art'." (30) Art is innate and it is taken for granted. Empathy and style are the primary factors in the process that gives birth to art. There are many cross-sections which have to be combined before we can arrive at the notion of what created human artistic creativity.
We seek rest from unclarity, and the more highly evolved we are the greater pains we experience. Space is the enemy of the abstract.
Aesthetic enjoyment is self-enjoyment. This is art, and art is created by three factors: utilitarian purpose, raw material, and techniques. Art is the history of ability, and activity is life.
Art is used to 'satisfy a deep psychic need', created out of impulse and imitation of that need.
Space is the enemy, and man freed himself from the fear of extended space by habituation and reflection (16). We develop to push back our fear of being lost in the universe.
There is vast confusion of the world universe, and we try to individualize and center ourselves in it.
The ego is the greatest work of art.
"Can two aesthetic experiences exist within the same coexist within the same artwork?'
Josef Albers, Study for Homage to the Square, n.d. Oil over pencil on cardboard, 33.3 x 29.9 cm. Deutsche Bank Collection
Thursday, February 20, 2014
I recognize as foundational in my artistic training Conrad
Fiedler’s theory that visual perception is an innate conceptual process, equal
to abstract thinking, which withers (like the ability to speak) when neglected
and transforms when rigorously developed. “Each time that sensation is awakened
and abstract concepts appear, perception vanishes.” (p. 37) “Before the
capacities of forming concepts . . . have been developed in him . . . he
acquires and creates for himself the many-sided world, and the early substance
of his mind is the consciousness of a visible, tangible world . . . The child
acquires a consciousness of the world and . . . possesses the world.When other mental forces have grown in man .
. . and provide him with another consciousness, he very easily fails to
appreciate that earlier consciousness by which he had been first awakened on
entering life . . . [he] sacrifices the
one for the sake of building up the other.” (p. 49-50)
I was taught the artwork was the
vehicle for expanding capacity and not the intended result. “The mental life of
artist consists in constantly producing this artistic consciousness.This it is which is essentially artistic
activity the true artistic creation, of which the production of works of art is
only an external result.” (p. 51)
I was instructed to practice visual
investigation and distinction of nuances as I moved through my everyday
existence.The manipulation of tools and
media was subordinate to the capacity to perceive.Conceptual thinking about known properties of
identifiable subjects was to be set aside in service of untainted observation.“ . . . art does not deal with some materials which somehow have already become
the mental possession of man; that which has already undergone some mental
process is lost to art, because art itself is a process by which the mental
possession s of a man are immediately enriched.What excites artistic activity is that which is as yet untouched by the
human mind.”(p. 48-49)
While I could see a
direct link from Fiedler’s theory to representational art, the possibility of
it’s influence on abstract art did not occur to me until Anthony pointed it out
to us.I wondered if that development
had occurred to Fiedler.Abstraction
would be “pure sensory experience” disentangled from the historic European
context of visual perception.German
Expressionism developed from Fiedler’s writing about “inner necessity,” (Review
by: Alfred Neumeyer The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism,
Vol. 16, No. 4 (Jun., 1958), pp. 530-532, Published by: Wiley on behalf of The American Society for Aesthetics
“ . . . When, driven by an inner necessity and
applying the powers of his mind, he grapples with the twisted mass of the
visible which presses in upon him and gives it creative form . . . In the
creation of a work of art, man engages in a struggle with nature not for his
physical but for his mental existence” (p. 48) “When the artist develops his
visual conception to the point where “this way and no other” becomes a
necessity for him.” (p. 57)
This ability to create other contexts and possibilities from
a shift in fertile ground is one of the most exciting and wondrous capacities
of the small part of the human mind that is overlooked by the survival mechanism.
For me Frankl brings up some interesting points. Early in the article Frankl points out that "Within every space something that appeals to emotion and something else appears to reason". He is concerned with space and not the furnishing nor decorations inside. It reminds me of of emotions I have when entering an old abandoned building. Not knowing what it was used for my mind attempts to create the space as it was in its prime. Although I have some details of layout, and clues of what has been, i have with me a sense of angst and emotion. I guess we can simplify by saying , " If these walls could talk".
Frankl has also made me ponder pure form and line as I think about architecture. I may ask myself, are there converging lines, these can enact a triangular shape that can penetrate the cortex. Is the space large that can invoke a gathering? I then can ponder what type of gathering. According to Frankl ," The bridge between art and life remain undiscovered". To further this notion the bridge between architecture and fine art may be have gaps as well, but this doesn't need be. Both are filled with narrative, form, and contemplation. The mind views form at any location.
Culture and architecture. When Medieval churches are viewed the stigma that is recanted from this era carries weight, additionally the outside contours mesh with the inside design. When viewing some of these old churches the spires that rise high in the sky emulate a gesture to god himself, " Listen to me". The pointed spires affirm the need for weaponry back in these olden times and resemble the Lance a soldier might carry on his horse : pointed and ready to penetrate. In my mind what makes gothic churches unique is the fact that the inside complements the outside. High ceilings converge creating ribs with many facets. Its almost as if they created the skeleton of a human metaphorically.As one traveled down the long Nave it would seems as if they were traveling down the throat of god himself. In this era of architecture combined with the culture I can see how the the term, "Fear the Maker", had been proclaimed.
It's interesting to think of architecture as 'a consistent form of presentation' (Anton Springer). Namely, art that doesn't move or change, at least not usually. As well, architecture is referred to not as fine arts but as building art, art that is not free. Schmarsow complains of architecture that lacks natural relation to the observer, and thinks of the artwork in the early 1900's as commonplace shelters instead of works of art. It would be interesting to think what he thought of architecture today in 2014. What would he think of the Experience Music Project in Seattle, or the towers in Shanghai, or the Atrium in Brussels, or the 'bullet' in London.
"What is truly essential can only start in the mind of the artist and end in the mind of the observer." (283). This quote relates to all art including architecture, as a building starts as an idea on paper and becomes a real life form of art in our eyes upon completion.
I like how Schmarsow points out that the creators of architecture today are taking from works of the past and expanding on those foundations. "Almost all works derivative and traditional and hardly ever in an original state" (284). Then he goes on to compare the architecture styles of churches to supreme court buildings to libraries to Eskimo's igloos to the Caribbean beach hut. I like how he raises the question of, is it art or is it shelter? I like how he states that the most primitive of buildings belong to the evolutionary history of art as much as the 'Reichstag' (285). This is because one element that is essential in one is also present in the other.
In the case of the argument of architecture being art, I like how Schmarsow points out that the technical and diverse elements that go into the construction of a building is no different than the technical and diverse elements that go into an orchestra. The structural articulation is an execution of the art form and a means of presentation (285).
'The one essential feature is the enclosure of space, the human need for protection agains the hardships of the external world" (286). So this begs what I think is the main question the article poses: Is architecture art or shelter?
Our sense of sight, sense of space, and spacial imagination creates our spacial creation, or 'the creatures of space' (Raumgestalterin). Math and architecture are 'sisters' in the arts.
Architecture is a testament to the human intellect and desire for organization, as lines become walls and roofs and our spatial imagination takes form. Therefore, one function of art is to promote order and organization according to this article. Architecture equals the science of space explorers, explaining the ideal forms of the human intuition of space (288).
"Spatial creation never detaches itself from the subject but always implies a relationship with the observer and creator. Every spatial creation is first and foremost the enclosing of a subject" (288). Thus architecture is different that all other forms of art in that it always encloses some amount of space. Therefore, there are two parts to architecture, the observing from without (outside) and the observing from within.
"Art creates emanations of ideal entities" (289). We can imagine ourselves physically inside a building or what it looks like, but until we enter we do not know what the inside holds for the viewer on the outside. Thus art creates emanations of entities or ideas and thoughts for the viewer to imagine what is on the inside, what spatial constructs await us upon entering.
"Wherever in buildings the dimension of depth dominates the interior space, this becomes the defining characteristic of the building" (290).
I read this as the main room of a building is the biggest and holds the most space and therefore is the most important. It becomes the focal point or subject matter of the building, much like my photographs have a subject and focal point.
"Space must be filled with a life of its own if it is to satisfy us and make us happy" (291) Thus, 'emotional representation of the concepts of force and load transfer our own feelings of movement directly to the static spatial form, making spatial art the most varied relation to juan experience and to human life on earth" (291-292).
Architecture becomes one with the viewer as the viewer absorbs the spatial constructs of a building, and interacts with the viewer by giving the viewer a feeling such as cramped or tight, open or airy, simple or complex, etc. Thus we understand the how a work of architecture was formed by understanding the space from within by viewing the spatial constructs.
Architecture has many facets. Urban planning and development such as roads, agriculture, city construction, gardening are all part of the hand of architecture (294). It's funny that when the world was less developed architecturally humans longed for organization and structure, and shunned the natural environment. Now that the world has been paved over and constructed on multiple times over, humans crave for the natural mountains, rivers, ravines, and valleys that are yet to be untouched by the human hand.
'The history of architecture is the history of the sense of space,' and thus the 'history of worldviews' (296). If you look at buildings across famous cities and famous ruins of the world, you can see what a culture held valuable to their beliefs and thoughts at the time. From synagogues to temples to monuments and statues, architecture plays an immense role in our lives, and I definitely consider it art.
It is unquestionably the language and style of 19th century philosophy -- its dignified and earnest tone, exemplified here by August Schmarsow’s text -- which is perhaps best described as the style of the “treatise”, that prompts me to open this is (post-)post-modern post in a somewhat offhanded and irreverent manner.
For “The Essence of Architectural Creation” seems to bear the mark of “having ample time”. Ample time to ponder, write, gradually develop one’s thoughts by circumventing, then momentarily entering, circumventing again the main idea -- and this endlessly. It’s as if the author needed to warm up the reader’s mind, carefully and, not without elegant prose and pontification, slowly - like food subjected to the “frozen” setting in a microwave oven.
Like marshmallows, Schmarsow’s essay may be fun to play with (not that I would want to burn it, I do not subscribe to mankind's consterning tradition of the libricide), but harder to digest. Unlike marshmallows and many architectural structures (at least in their design and exception made of bunkers and forts), it is strenuous to penetrate. (A positive outcome of this reading, however, was to inspire the idea of a performance in which the performer reads a list of names while pushing as many marshmallows as possible into his or her mouth.)
Burnt Schmarshmallows in Space - Pennsylvania, Summer 2012
(Titled inspired by Tom Sanders, because otherwise people might not know what these are)
Such a style seems to find roots farther back in time --- in Rousseau’s “The Social Contract” (1762) for instance, or in David Hume’s work, or John Locke’s. It was perhaps a writer-philosopher’s emancipation from the dogma of the almighty, omniscient Church and a newly acquired freedom of expression that gave him or her (but more often “him”) a hall pass to expound. And expound. And expound some more. There were less distractions then, and perhaps the reader’s mind was more readily available. (No instagram, incoming text message, email, fax, phone call, or telegram - maybe a letter deposited by the mail person and the sound of a horse-drawn carriage moving away, ah, and the gentle distraction of a chamber quartet, or piano should the reader find him or herself endowed with privileged circumstances). There is, it seems, an unspoken, underlying fascination for the intellect, celebrated in the form of lengthy and, at times, obscure writings. Freedom of expression, gained in those times at the price of political and social struggles, needed to be exalted, quite literally, in the form of voluminous discourses. There was the corollary notion that anyone could understand them: the child of the Lumieres was gifted with the ability to read, think and respond critically. This was an almost naive fascination - as if these authors were saying “how wonderful: now I can think and write freely about all these matters”. Long texts and argumentation, sometimes assertions, became the tangible - readable - embodiment of the mind’s propensity to think and debate. As glorious as this seems, I impatiently wait for the Lumieres (and its heirs) - like the blinding headlights of a car - to pass.
Schmarsow, like Hildebrandt or Vischer, falls into this category. Granted, it is a category that I built and from which I disassociate myself. I am not a child of the Lumieres. I am one of contradiction with little hope for dialectics - just bare post-Dada paradox, world wars, terrorism, corruption, Rwanda, Bosnia. No vertical or horizontal axis for me, just obliques. My belief in and connection to these streams of thought has been severed. And belief may be what we need to sustain attention. I am distracted by (or perhaps, more accurately: “invested simultaneously in”) emails, websites, assignments, ten different books and PDFs which I have given up trying to finish. I attempt to stay but fail- le mal de ce siecle qui commence? - with Schmarsow. I read the words, understand each one of them, I understand them in the context of a sentence, a paragraph even, but, beyond that, I fail to grasp where the author is going. I know he’s discussing the continuity of architecture from the Caribbean hut to the Reichstag. And spatial constructs. I know. But I want him to make his point quickly -- and such is not the way of the homo nineteenthcenturyus. Perhaps Schmarsow does make the point, but then makes it over, and over again -- at which point I start to wonder if I ever got it the first time. I am overwhelmed by a form out of which I feel pressed to squeeze content. And so I read on, increasingly alienated by a text from which I presuppose that I am to gain, at the very least, some new insight. Perhaps expecting gain of this kind is a mistake. Here, gain may, in fact, come from staying with. “Just hear me out”, old Schmarsow seems to be whispering, urging me to stretch the limits of my empathy. But the marshmallows render the communication almost unintelligible. And then, in a process of mimicry and derision, I, in turn, start to expound. To stay (or be) with Schmarsow, is all I ask.
My hermeticism could be tempered, and maybe forgiven, by the following comments.
The first relates to Matisse’s mural commission for the American collector Albert Barnes in the 1930’s which was hailed as one of the most successful mergings of architecture and painting of the 20th century. Of course, the merging itself is nothing new. One needs only to look back at Pompeii - the style that became known as “grotto” due to the fact that Pompeian palaces had been covered, caved-in, by Vesuvius’ lava. The art critic Brian O’Doherty writes about these mergers in “Inside the White Cube” and shows, for instance, how architecture for a long time - from the Baroque to the Victorian era - paid attention to, integrated, the ceiling. It was only in the 20th century that the ceilings became a bland, neutral space, catering no longer to trompe l’oeil or bas relief but to technology: light fixtures and cables. A sore thumb, an outcast - le laisse pour compte - of, in Schmarsow’s words, the “art of space”, or “a space filled with a life of its own” (p. 291).
The second involves the artist Krzysztof Wodiczko (whom we studied in 282A last fall) renowned for his large-scale slide and video projections on architectural facades and monuments. In 1983, Wodiczko, who grew up in communist Poland shared an intriguing take on architecture (it bears, in my view, the scars of the massive and oppressive quality of Stalinist habitats):
“In the process of our socialization, the very first contact with a public building is no less important than the moment of social confrontation with the father, through which our sexual role and place in society [are] constructed. Early socialization through patriarchal sexual discipline is extended by the later socialization through the institutional architecturalization of our bodies. Thus the spirit of the father never dies, continuously living as it does in the building which was, is, and will be embodying, structuring, mastering, representing, and reproducing his ‘eternal’ and ‘universal’ presence as a patriarchal wisdom-body of power.”
Long preambule. Below I have included my notes. This could be a way for readers to stay with me.
- … contrasts the views of the historian and the philosopher, or “aesthetician” (p. 281) on the matter of architecture. For the former it is the basis of all human development, for the other, it is bound to laws of function and therefore, unlike the fine arts, it is not a free art. Schmarsow seems to take the side of the historian here (p. 282)
- Art of dressing - Gottfried Semper
p. 283 “what is truly essential is …”
- As a peaceful citizen of the small world of the spinning top which has been turned upside down by … (I am that citizen and Schmarsow “spins me round like a record round round” and upside down)
- p. 284 middle: “architecture” after ...
suggests we go back in time to a sort of pre-historic vision of architecture
link between primitive and contemporary architecture, Gottfried Semper, for instance, does not recognize the affiliation. find a common ground between newer and older or vernacular types of architecture.
- architecture / music (OK, yes, but please: no more analogies between the arts, how is that helpful? do musicians make analogies with architecture?)
- caribbean hut to reichstag > historical, cultural uniformism, universalism
spatial constructs: affirms an aesthetic pov vs a XX pov
the creatress of space. ah, so here is where I get lost, I lose my own self - in this mapless space of words, perhaps.
- architecture as the extension of the sense of body with the visual sense > think: Bruce Nauman's claustrophobic structures...
- "every spatial creation is first and foremost the enclosing of a subject" > every textual creation is the enclosure of a subject.
I really enjoyed these two
architecture readings.I haven't had a
lot of experience reading about art architecture theory, so it was very
enlightening.The first reading by
August Schmarsow was, to me, the more fascinating of the two.The passages where he wrote about internal
and external space were intriguing.On
page 288, he says, "Architecture...is the creatress of space, in
accordance with the ideal forms of the human intuition of space."It is interesting to see that there is a
concrete connection with creating space and the imaginative and intuitive ideas
that humans have of space.Schmarsow
goes on to say on page 289 that, "We also satisfy a spiritual need by gaining
enough "elbowroom." This
brings up a plethora of ideas of how having enough space, or achieving enough
space because of success "satisfies" something "spiritual"
in us, a "need" even.It makes
me think of being in mansion size square-footage vs. feelings safe in a smaller
space.Also, thinking of the way space
gets taken over, or when you have to share your space, and how those variables
effect your "spiritual need" for enough space.On the bottom of page 291, August explains
that, "Space must be filled with a life of its own if it is to satisfy us
and make us happy."Creating some
sort of home environment that has evidence of being is what makes one happy.“Architecture as the creatress of space is
based on a systematic command of the material of spatial imagination and
constitutes a creative elaboration of the three-dimensional visual image for
human satisfaction and pleasure.” (292)The
correct space creates contentment and happiness in humans.
The Paul Frankl reading was more
factual and linear and I really liked how he articulated the changes in
thinking/beliefs/reason and how that affected the architectural model of that
time or phase.Frankl says that, “the
meaning of a space derives solely from its furnishings, and thus it is a grave
error to attempt tot explain architecture aesthetically or historically without
them.”I thought immediately on my
recent Winchester Mystery House tour.The house has around 150 rooms and only a few of them are furnished with
any furniture at all.All of the
original furniture was moved out of the house when Mrs. Winchester died and so
there is no way of knowing what exactly was inside or how it was furnished. They bought pieces of furnishings that were
common at the time but there is no way of having a complete understanding of
the life of Mrs. Winchester and now the house maintains a “lifeless effect”.
Frankl writes, “When a generation
ceases to have a vital interest in a certain content, the image becomes
unintelligible to the multitude.” (159) We see this all the time now that
everything is changing so quickly.It
was intriguing to learn that even though buildings can physically last longer
that paintings, their “life span as living works of art is often much shorter.”
In the section where Frankl explains that
when, “a building dies as soon as the life within it has vanished, even if we
know the customs of the people who once belonged to it”, I wonder if that
statement holds true in a place like Pompeii? (160) In Pompeii, there are still
persevered bodies in several places and even though the people living in that
time are no longer there, the spaces are still constantly filled with people being
tourists.Does Frankl’s statement hold
true for every building that allows for tourism?
I found that Conrad Fiedler made a few assumptions worth looking at. as a lawyer and philosopher his work has weight to it. The first of statements "It is a rare privilege of highly organized, sensitive persons that they can achieve immediate contact with nature", brings up an interesting point, primarily, "Highly organized ". Would it mean if a person was not organized that they would not indulge into the privilege. I contend many great artists were in fact highly un-organized. Its possible the meaning of gestalt may have a play in this.
Another point of interest is the fact that Fiedler points to the fact that the creative process is based upon the process and not the final result. This makes alot of sense to me. Particularly in today's art world. From the onset professors instill the works of well known artists to students in the academia setting. But i believe through hard work, and careful sensibilities an art student can break the mold of "Cliche". To compound this notion, artists can be lured into the same redundant artwork over and over again. This certainly is dependent on the length of the project, and should be judged on a case by case basis.
His note about predetermined perception also caught my eye. It may be a habitual process of society to judge, moreover, project a final stamp of approval on things. For me if I view an artwork for the first and my senses determine it is not appealing, this is when I dig deeper into my reasons of disapproval. In some cases my thoughts about a person, artwork, object, etc.. can be overturned.
It is interesting to note that Matisse was used as an example of Fiedler's mindset. Matisse has always inspired me because of his ability to create simplistic artworks that somehow fill in the blanks as I view his work. Although after reading the article I was sure it would have been an artist creating photo realistic paintings with great technique, such as the painters of the northern Baroque.
The first part of this text, by Adolf von Hildebrand (Germany, 1847 - 1921), has the merit of introducing elements of optics in relation to the viewing of three dimensional artworks. Noticeably, for the 21st century reader (but perhaps not so much at the time the text was written, when the culture of Enlightenment was prevalent and one could be an artist, and a scientist, and a politician, for instance, as the gout du jour was to be a well-rounded person in all matters of human interests) Hildebrand offers a rather scholarly approach even though he is known, primarily, as a sculptor. I say “merit” because my tendency is often to approach three dimensional works of art with optical matters in the background (no pun intended) of my concerns, while those of criticism, content are usually foregrounded. Not unlike Freud unveiling the arcane and unconscious workings behind our dreams, Hildebrand articulates the hidden mechanisms of our sight and our attempts to grasp and make sense of art in a spatial perspective.
Having said that (if Hildebrand were reading, he would know that this expression augurs temperament, perhaps refutation) this is where, as the French say, le bât blesse. Hildebrand’s approach seems mechanistic, geometric (p. 22) even: the viewer approaches the work of art with very little thought, or volition - barely choosing one’s position in space. His is a gradual but continual progression from telescopic to microscopic - very much like Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, but political satire is replaced here by the mathematics of aesthetics - as if the viewer had no choice but to move on in her or his tracks, as if the only acceptable mode of viewing was an impeccable straight line from far to near. The only way is forward. The cult of and faith in Progress finds itself iterated here in the linear mode of viewing of art. Stepping forward, stepping back - this remind me of those 18th and 19th century illustrations in which the art viewer (manifesting here as the vox populi / vox dei) was portrayed contemplating the work from afar, then coming in closer for detailed inspection (is the Enlightenment’s secular God not in the details?), usually holding their chin in a sign of thoughtful concentration. Then back again: the dance, un pas de deux, microcosm and macrocosm - the consecrated perspectives des Lumieres, a time-period apparently emancipated from religion, yet thoroughly grasping one of religion’s fundamental paradigms: the bird’s eye view / the bug’s eye view, the whole vs. the part.
In addition to rationalistic linearity, Hildebrand’s analysis is replete with what seems like, from, again, a 21st century perspective, awkward functional assessments. “Movements of the head are often made for the purpose of bringing together successive perceptions of an object from different points of view…” (p. 23). What if the movements of my head have no purpose at all? What if I look the other way (la demission du regard et du regardeur)? What if I don’t want to move my head and decide to miss an entire portion of the artwork? And what if I have been diagnosed with Parkinson’s, and my head moves in accordance to its own whimsical schemes? I’ll be blunt: Hildebrand’s viewer is a coarse archetype, at best. At worse, a sort of robot.
And, because I am mildly dyslexic, I ended up a bit cross-eyed when I attempted to see for myself what Hildebrand meant in his comments on the placement of the image on the right eye and the left eye (p. 26).
I’ll digress a bit here by evoking Bruce Nauman: how would we apply Hildebrand’s approach to this type of work?
Live-Taped Video Corridor, 1970. Wallboard, video camera, two video monitors, videotape player, and videotape, dimensions variable, approximately: (ceiling height) × 384 × 20 inches ([ceiling height] × 975.4 × 50.8 cm).
The videos playing on the monitors are two-dimensional, the monitors themselves -- which the viewer approaches from afar as part of the installation apparatus -- are three-dimensional, and the corridor is as three-dimensional as can be. How would Hildebrand categorize - and which type of looking would he recommend for - works that are immersive, with which the viewer is to engage, not only with sight, but with body? Especially here, where the movement of the viewer towards and away from the monitors, and its delayed rendition on the screens, is the very focus of the work - not an ancillary or mechanical way one views the work. In other words, the process of viewing here, activates -- and thus, ultimately, alters -- the work, as well as, one can assume, the viewer.
Some of Hildebrandt’s observations are helpful, however, to understand the modalities through which we approach three-dimensional space and works of art. For instance the distinction between purely visual sight perception and sight perception involving kinesthetic elements. Here the work - its form and its placement in space - command or solicit a certain type of response from the body (yes, those movements of the head) in order to accommodate the seeking eye. Elsewhere, another comment of his brings to mind something I heard in a drawing class: translating a three-dimensional object placed in front of us onto a two-dimensional plane is challenging because, even though we only see the part of the object that is facing our eyes, our mind imagines - we visualize - all the parts of the object, and unconsciously attempt to render them. However in the two-dimensional space we would only represent the front view -- the actual view.
But we needn’t look to only recent works to complicate Hilderbrand’s theories: how would these apply, for instance, to Kurt Schwitter’s “Merzbau” (1923-1943, yes, this work, like people, lived and died) -- not just its immersive cave-like quality, which could literally engulf any viewer, but the fact that it was, primarily, a work-in-progress (one that spanned 20 years, and, as such, was never static)? In other words: how does Hilderbrand account for that fourth element, or dimension, in viewing a work of art (be it sculpture, or more contemporarily, installation): time? Increasingly, works of art are to be seen, viewed, understood, not in abstraction of their time and context but, on the contrary, as an emanation of and in dialog with it. This is probably more a matter of intellect (or mind) -- of thought perception -- than eye.
Elsewhere in the text (p. 26), what do we think of this addition?:
It stands out quite a bit (and would make a good text for a T-shirt) -- like those highlighted excerpts in magazines, which editors print in larger type in the margin to anchor or claim, similar in that way to advertising, the reader’s attention. Here, however, it performs like an afterthought or , perhaps, a disclaimer. But more importantly: it implicitly affirms the dichotomy or binary art / life. If art is not life, then what is it? Is the science of the eye, for instance, more life than art is? If so, how can it claim to apply to art, if they are of distinct realms?
The question, in the end, may be, then: is there a way to look at art that is specific to art? Far from eluding the matter Hildebrand addresses it, but perhaps only partially.
Christophe Cherix’s, in his preface to Hans Ulrich Obrist’s “A Brief History of Curating” (JRP|Ringier, Les presses du réel, 2009) writes: “... Obrist asked the former director of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, Anne d’Harnoncourt, what advice she would give to a young curator entering the world of today’s more popular but less experimental museums, in her response she recalled with admiration Gilbert & George’s famous ode to art: “I think my advice would probably not change very much; it is to look and look and look, and then to look again, because nothing replaces looking … I am not being in Duchamp’s words ‘only retinal,’ I don’t mean that. I mean to be with art—I always thought that was a wonderful phrase of Gilbert & George’s, ‘to be with art is all we ask.’” How can one be fully with art? In other words, can art be experienced directly in a society that has produced so much discourse and built so many structures to guide the spectator?”
Hildebrand, writing in the early 20th century (the 1st edition of “The problem of Form in Painting and Sculpture” is dated 1907) and though only a few years before Duchamp’s groundbreaking work, is quite retinal indeed. Is he being with art? Or just looking at it?
