When is a Horse, not a Horse
I once sat in on a discussion group about painting. I just happened to be in a local Borders book store and, with nothing better to do, I decided to join in. The group leader began to reverently talk about the beauty of art—and then demonstrated his meaning by showing us an example of his own work—a painting of a horse showing all the technical prowess of a well-intentioned, but nominally-gifted amateur. As the discussion moved around a circle of maybe eight or ten people, art, with all its potential meaning, was elevated to reflect a deeper spiritual significance.
I've always been a bit of an anarchist—not politically mind you—although I read Noam Chomsky intently in my younger days. I’ve never lobbed a bomb into a building in protest, but, I have certainly thrown a rhetorical bomb or two, or thousand. After hearing enough of the usual “Art is priceless and aren't we cool for thinking such non – mundane and meaningful stuff,” I was compelled to offer a slightly different perspective. I said, “At best, art is representational—a two-dimensional reflection of a three-dimensional, living thing! No artistic rendering can begin to mimic the kind of complexity that is inherent in nature, except in the most basic way.” Their eyes focused on me like someone observing an alien life form—my words appearing to upset the rhythm of their self-congratulatory lovefest. After a brief pause, the leader and horse render-er offered his own perspective. “I have seen many paintings of horses that are more beautiful than actual horses!” His meaning seemed to be that art, because it was aesthetically pleasing, was somehow more real than reality—and as such, more meaningful. This suggested that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, making the observer more beautiful as well.
Art, by its nature, has no single set of rules, with no legislative bodies to determine who gets to be an artist or what qualifies as art. Art is a subjective term, with no fixed meaning and without strict guidelines, it can be, and generally is, anything we want it to be. These ideas work perfectly well in an environment where value is determined aesthetically, or in dollars and cents, as is the case with most commodities—including art—a pastime generally engaged in by the more affluent members of society. But, the application of those same ideas in the broader world of economics, or, more importantly, in government or law, is completely unworkable. I have great admiration for the artistry of Charlie Parker; I would, however, hate to have him as my congressman! Therein is the problem with intuitive logic, which is the lifeblood of art—and why poets tend to make bad politicians. Art is about aesthetics, not practicality.
Such is the nature of our individual worldviews. We assume that our beliefs and values are not actually beliefs and values, but something more. If only others saw the world as we do, everything would be fine. The aesthete and the businessman are in competition for limited resources, and in our culture that means money. From the artist’s perspective, the greedy, bloodsucking entrepreneur just wants to make a buck, while the guileless artist is interested only in beauty, and enriching the souls of their fellow man. While the businessman understands that art may enrich the soul, he is all too aware that it doesn't inherently enrich the pocketbook, making all of us poorer.
I've always been a bit of an anarchist—not politically mind you—although I read Noam Chomsky intently in my younger days. I’ve never lobbed a bomb into a building in protest, but, I have certainly thrown a rhetorical bomb or two, or thousand. After hearing enough of the usual “Art is priceless and aren't we cool for thinking such non – mundane and meaningful stuff,” I was compelled to offer a slightly different perspective. I said, “At best, art is representational—a two-dimensional reflection of a three-dimensional, living thing! No artistic rendering can begin to mimic the kind of complexity that is inherent in nature, except in the most basic way.” Their eyes focused on me like someone observing an alien life form—my words appearing to upset the rhythm of their self-congratulatory lovefest. After a brief pause, the leader and horse render-er offered his own perspective. “I have seen many paintings of horses that are more beautiful than actual horses!” His meaning seemed to be that art, because it was aesthetically pleasing, was somehow more real than reality—and as such, more meaningful. This suggested that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, making the observer more beautiful as well.
Art, by its nature, has no single set of rules, with no legislative bodies to determine who gets to be an artist or what qualifies as art. Art is a subjective term, with no fixed meaning and without strict guidelines, it can be, and generally is, anything we want it to be. These ideas work perfectly well in an environment where value is determined aesthetically, or in dollars and cents, as is the case with most commodities—including art—a pastime generally engaged in by the more affluent members of society. But, the application of those same ideas in the broader world of economics, or, more importantly, in government or law, is completely unworkable. I have great admiration for the artistry of Charlie Parker; I would, however, hate to have him as my congressman! Therein is the problem with intuitive logic, which is the lifeblood of art—and why poets tend to make bad politicians. Art is about aesthetics, not practicality.
Such is the nature of our individual worldviews. We assume that our beliefs and values are not actually beliefs and values, but something more. If only others saw the world as we do, everything would be fine. The aesthete and the businessman are in competition for limited resources, and in our culture that means money. From the artist’s perspective, the greedy, bloodsucking entrepreneur just wants to make a buck, while the guileless artist is interested only in beauty, and enriching the souls of their fellow man. While the businessman understands that art may enrich the soul, he is all too aware that it doesn't inherently enrich the pocketbook, making all of us poorer.
These same variables are found in politics, with Republicans cast as the stern, business-like father figure, telling you to “Get up off your lazy butt and get a job.” with the Democrats acting like mom, “Here’s ten dollars, don’t tell your dad!” As a species we seem to be perfectly happy imposing our worldview on others, sure, as all potential sociopaths tend to be, that if only they adhered to our vision regarding politics, life and love that the world would be a better place, that God is with us, and that He, She or It looks suspiciously like us
At its core, it may be nothing more than an argument between left brain and right brain oriented people. A hemispherical debate like the one fought between the Northern and Southern states, only defined by geographic brain activity instead of regional politics. On the other hand, that might be a piping mound of equine feculence—or at best, the speculative meanderings of the scientific mind searching for a paradigm in which to posit a theory and hopefully get a grant.
It may be that there is no inherent instinct for truth outside of the very fundamental recognition that seems to be universal to all people. C.S. Lewis, the great Christian philosopher wrote about the innate sense of justice that all men appeal to and that all men equally try to avoid when attempting to justify their actions. Truth, however, is more than right and wrong. It’s also cause and effect—made more difficult by our interaction with others, who, like us, are attempting to solve the same puzzle, which only multiplies the problem. All of us are at times forced to make decisions for which there is no discernible right answer, there are simply too many variables—and so we make the choice that seems right under the given circumstances—and hope for the best.
How then do we determine the value of anything? Any economist will tell you essentially the same thing. Value is in the eye of the beholder. Or in the language of economics, whatever price someone is willing to pay—whether we are dealing with art, commerce or even human life. Individuals, businesses and governments all make decisions about cost versus benefit. We may determine when we are young and healthy to forego buying health insurance, convinced, as most young people tend to be, that life is eternal and death is something that happens to others, not us. We may understand that as sure as the rain will fall that life is finite but, given enough distance, death, like accountability, can be pushed from our minds into some dark corner of the unconscious and, if we are fortunate, someone else will be made to pay the bill when it finally comes due.
Such is the province of the intuitive mind, concerned about abstractions, intuiting its way through life, detached from the banal nature of practicality, anxious to have its impractical inclinations subsidized by all the rubes watching NASCAR racing and drinking beer at the local bowling alley. If you can get them to dig into their pockets on the basis of some cleverly-worded legislation that has been skillfully buried in the final draft of a sub-committee bill, then so be it. It’s well understood that Ivory Towers can be expensive to maintain.
Mark Magula
At its core, it may be nothing more than an argument between left brain and right brain oriented people. A hemispherical debate like the one fought between the Northern and Southern states, only defined by geographic brain activity instead of regional politics. On the other hand, that might be a piping mound of equine feculence—or at best, the speculative meanderings of the scientific mind searching for a paradigm in which to posit a theory and hopefully get a grant.
It may be that there is no inherent instinct for truth outside of the very fundamental recognition that seems to be universal to all people. C.S. Lewis, the great Christian philosopher wrote about the innate sense of justice that all men appeal to and that all men equally try to avoid when attempting to justify their actions. Truth, however, is more than right and wrong. It’s also cause and effect—made more difficult by our interaction with others, who, like us, are attempting to solve the same puzzle, which only multiplies the problem. All of us are at times forced to make decisions for which there is no discernible right answer, there are simply too many variables—and so we make the choice that seems right under the given circumstances—and hope for the best.
How then do we determine the value of anything? Any economist will tell you essentially the same thing. Value is in the eye of the beholder. Or in the language of economics, whatever price someone is willing to pay—whether we are dealing with art, commerce or even human life. Individuals, businesses and governments all make decisions about cost versus benefit. We may determine when we are young and healthy to forego buying health insurance, convinced, as most young people tend to be, that life is eternal and death is something that happens to others, not us. We may understand that as sure as the rain will fall that life is finite but, given enough distance, death, like accountability, can be pushed from our minds into some dark corner of the unconscious and, if we are fortunate, someone else will be made to pay the bill when it finally comes due.
Such is the province of the intuitive mind, concerned about abstractions, intuiting its way through life, detached from the banal nature of practicality, anxious to have its impractical inclinations subsidized by all the rubes watching NASCAR racing and drinking beer at the local bowling alley. If you can get them to dig into their pockets on the basis of some cleverly-worded legislation that has been skillfully buried in the final draft of a sub-committee bill, then so be it. It’s well understood that Ivory Towers can be expensive to maintain.
Mark Magula
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