Artistic Con-cepts
Artistic Con-cepts
There we were, standing in one of Miami’s most prestigious museums and art galleries, looking at a couple of extension cords stuck to the wall. I turned to my son and joked, “Hey, this is a fine example of modern art.” only to realize that it really was an exhibit! A few feet away was a bicycle lying on the ground with its rear wheel perpetually turning while a young woman explained to a few stragglers its all too obvious symbolism.
My own philosophy of art is simple. It should challenge your expectations, offering a personal vision combined with a highly developed skill set that compels you viscerally, emotionally and intellectually—with craft being a primary ingredient.
What art has become is mostly conceptual, in other words, it has to be explained to be understood. Maybe it’s the notion that what separates us from animals is our ability to think abstractly and so abstract thought is seen as the highest standard of cognitive achievement. Abstractions in art follow this line of logic very closely.
In the late 1950’s, Ornette Coleman came into prominence when he challenged the jazz tradition’s approach to form, primarily in terms of harmony and melody. Playing an inexpensive plastic saxophone, he borrowed from the innovations of Thelonious Monk and Charles Mingus in jazz and Arnold Schoenberg’s twelve-tone technique—helping to create a new approach to playing jazz. It’s still recognizable as such by its swing-based rhythms.
Mingus. the great bass virtuoso and composer, would later tell the story, with some disdain, about a jam session with Ornette where the tune Perdido was called. Coleman suggested the blues in C major. For a saxophonist, C is the only key with no sharps and flats and the easiest to negotiate harmonically. Combined with the blues, you have the simplest possible jazz progression on which to improvise. By dispensing with harmonic and melodic conventions, you can limit the need for prodigious chops.
This isn’t to suggest that his ideas weren’t meaningful, it’s more a case of them representing change, not necessarily for the better, but merely different. Coleman split the music world pretty much down the middle winning numerous acolytes, as well as detractors. His influence moved well beyond the boundaries of jazz, affecting classical, rock, film and even Broadway show music.
The temptation to view change and innovation as synonymous, is no different than equating fashion with progress. Coleman’s approach was different in that it obliterated the line between what was recognizable and what was accepted as tradition. Questioning the validity of consonant sounding intervals as safe, he instead offered a new way of hearing jazz. Reflecting changes that had already taken place decades earlier in European music. Anyone listening to, or capable of, playing in Charlie Parker’s idiom understood the difference as a departure from musical norms, one that was freeing but not necessarily an improvement.
The real problem is separating the aesthetic value of art from its economic value. Finding a greater analogy with politics--just because an idea is popular doesn’t make it workable. Markets, by their nature, maximize economic incentives, increasing viability at the expense of substance, which leads to the conclusion that art, by its nature, is elitist. On the other hand, so is auto mechanics—and for exactly the same reason.
The obvious parallels between varying art forms are really a case of following the logical trend. From codified traditions with strict rules of interpretation to increasingly deconstructing those same ideas, stripping away layers of expectation, to reveal a new concept. One perspective might be that Renoir and Shakespeare, over time, devolve into Picasso and James Joyce in a kind of aesthetic entropy. Another view would be that this devolution offers a completely different interpretation of the movement towards a creative apogee with a very thin line separating nihilism and creation.
There is a perfectly natural tendency to challenge rules and their validity. Over time, things tend to trend towards an ever-broadening middle with the whole enterprise of art and life having been expanded first at the edges and then across the spectrum.
Mark S Magula
There we were, standing in one of Miami’s most prestigious museums and art galleries, looking at a couple of extension cords stuck to the wall. I turned to my son and joked, “Hey, this is a fine example of modern art.” only to realize that it really was an exhibit! A few feet away was a bicycle lying on the ground with its rear wheel perpetually turning while a young woman explained to a few stragglers its all too obvious symbolism.
My own philosophy of art is simple. It should challenge your expectations, offering a personal vision combined with a highly developed skill set that compels you viscerally, emotionally and intellectually—with craft being a primary ingredient.
What art has become is mostly conceptual, in other words, it has to be explained to be understood. Maybe it’s the notion that what separates us from animals is our ability to think abstractly and so abstract thought is seen as the highest standard of cognitive achievement. Abstractions in art follow this line of logic very closely.
In the late 1950’s, Ornette Coleman came into prominence when he challenged the jazz tradition’s approach to form, primarily in terms of harmony and melody. Playing an inexpensive plastic saxophone, he borrowed from the innovations of Thelonious Monk and Charles Mingus in jazz and Arnold Schoenberg’s twelve-tone technique—helping to create a new approach to playing jazz. It’s still recognizable as such by its swing-based rhythms.
Mingus. the great bass virtuoso and composer, would later tell the story, with some disdain, about a jam session with Ornette where the tune Perdido was called. Coleman suggested the blues in C major. For a saxophonist, C is the only key with no sharps and flats and the easiest to negotiate harmonically. Combined with the blues, you have the simplest possible jazz progression on which to improvise. By dispensing with harmonic and melodic conventions, you can limit the need for prodigious chops.
This isn’t to suggest that his ideas weren’t meaningful, it’s more a case of them representing change, not necessarily for the better, but merely different. Coleman split the music world pretty much down the middle winning numerous acolytes, as well as detractors. His influence moved well beyond the boundaries of jazz, affecting classical, rock, film and even Broadway show music.
The temptation to view change and innovation as synonymous, is no different than equating fashion with progress. Coleman’s approach was different in that it obliterated the line between what was recognizable and what was accepted as tradition. Questioning the validity of consonant sounding intervals as safe, he instead offered a new way of hearing jazz. Reflecting changes that had already taken place decades earlier in European music. Anyone listening to, or capable of, playing in Charlie Parker’s idiom understood the difference as a departure from musical norms, one that was freeing but not necessarily an improvement.
The real problem is separating the aesthetic value of art from its economic value. Finding a greater analogy with politics--just because an idea is popular doesn’t make it workable. Markets, by their nature, maximize economic incentives, increasing viability at the expense of substance, which leads to the conclusion that art, by its nature, is elitist. On the other hand, so is auto mechanics—and for exactly the same reason.
The obvious parallels between varying art forms are really a case of following the logical trend. From codified traditions with strict rules of interpretation to increasingly deconstructing those same ideas, stripping away layers of expectation, to reveal a new concept. One perspective might be that Renoir and Shakespeare, over time, devolve into Picasso and James Joyce in a kind of aesthetic entropy. Another view would be that this devolution offers a completely different interpretation of the movement towards a creative apogee with a very thin line separating nihilism and creation.
There is a perfectly natural tendency to challenge rules and their validity. Over time, things tend to trend towards an ever-broadening middle with the whole enterprise of art and life having been expanded first at the edges and then across the spectrum.
Mark S Magula