Everyone's a Critic
I find myself fascinated by James Panero's
My Jerry Saltz Problem
. Mind, I only follow visual art criticism casually, and not with any degree of dedication, although I was (as readers of this blog will remember) a great fan of the Bravo reality TV series Work of Art, and well-remember Saltz' interesting recap of how appearing on the show changed Saltz as a critic.
Writes Saltz, in the latter article, "I failed at practicing criticism on TV. I wasn’t nearly clear or articulate enough about why I liked and disliked things. I didn’t explain how artists embed thought into material. There’s no doubt in my mind that many other critics would have done better than I did. But I’d gladly try again. I learned a lot from the experience. For decades, nearly every successful artist has come out of art school. I’m not saying forget about school and enter the art world via a reality-TV show. But Work of Art reminded me that there are many ways to become an artist and many communities to be an artist in. The show also changed the way I think about my job. Over the ten weeks it aired, hundreds of strangers stopped me on the street to talk about it. In the middle of nowhere, I’d be having passionate discussions about art with laypeople. It happened in the hundreds, then thousands of comments that appeared below the recaps I wrote for nymag.com. Many of these came from people who said they’d never written about art before. Most were as articulate as any critic. I responded frequently, admitted when I was wrong, and asked others to expand on ideas. By the show’s end, over a quarter-million words had been generated. In my last recap I wrote, 'An accidental art criticism sprang up … Together we were crumbs and butter of a mysterious madeleine. The delivery mechanism had turned itself inside out.' Instead of one voice speaking to the many, there were many voices speaking to me—and one another. Coherently. I now understand that, like us, criticism contains multitudes."
It's hard, coming from a poetry slam background, to not have a visceral sense of empathy for that sentiment. If slam has given the poetry world one great gift, one standard worth standing behind, it's been the democratization of art, the steadfast belief that everyone is entitled to an opinion about the work of art in front of them. It may be ill-informed and, on occasion, drunken, but if a work of art makes you feel nothing, it makes you feel nothing. If it makes you feel something, even if it's what I would deem sentimental claptrap, then it makes you feel something. There's an inherent value in that, and if it's not the be-all and end-all of a piece of art's merit, it's still worthy of consideration. Am I still more interested in reading what, say, Robert Bohm, Susan Somers-Willett, Jordan Davis or Peter Campion have to say about poetry than some guy at the bar? Well, yes. But that's because I'm interested in reading that discussion at a more advanced level, not because the guy at the bar's opinion doesn't matter. (And to be fair, I've more than once taken advice about particular poems from feedback given by random guys at bars.) No, I find, when we get into discussions about criticism, be it poetry criticism or any other artistic genre, I get annoyed by the presupposition that it all needs to be any open thing.
Panero, in an assault on Saltz that seems to comprise equal parts honest concern for the art from, reactionary venom and no small degree of jealousy, writes, "The material intimacy of direct artistic experience—seeing paint, sensing the artist’s hand—does not emerge from social networking. Rather, great art offers a necessary alternative to an over-mediated culture. Art writers should use the internet to counteract the dematerialization of a hyper-connected world, not encourage it through false promises. Criticism is in crisis, but new-media gambits like reality television and social networking, and the illusory communities they generate, are not the answers in themselves. The point of good art criticism, whether you read it in print or online, should be to turn off the computer, shut off the television, and enjoy art in the flesh."
Well ... yes and no. Certainly, I can see Panero's point of view, but there are a couple of statements in this one paragraph that I'm afraid I have to take issue with:
1.) The material intimacy of direct artistic experience—seeing paint, sensing the artist’s hand—does not emerge from social networking.
Fair point, but one does hope that the majority of people commenting on Saltz' articles are, indeed, going out and experiencing the work for themselves, or at least work in their geographic vicinity. What's been lacking in the past has been accessibility to art -- a problem that cuts straight across the arts, from top to bottom. People who may have had some interest in visual art didn't read articles about it, because it was all discussion of something that was far away -- inevitably in New York City, although occasionally London or Paris -- where the publishers and critics lived. The overall effect was alienating, and built walls between artwork and potential audiences. But I do agree that the work should be best experienced first-hand. It's just that social media now makes it a lot easier to figure out where to look, and offers competing views, which challenge art-world establishments.
2.) Rather, great art offers a necessary alternative to an over-mediated culture. Art writers should use the internet to counteract the dematerialization of a hyper-connected world, not encourage it through false promises.
I don't recall this ever being in the job description. Was there a memo? Was it caught in my SPAM filter? All glibness aside, this strikes me as a personal issue, and not a call-to-arms. Art should, to a great degree, reflect the world where it exists. Now, creating work (and criticism) that challenges "dematerialization of a hyper-connected world" is a worthy goal, but I'd hesitate to state it should be the only goal. As with anything in life, the immense connectivity of the day is a mixed bag, with blessings and pitfalls. Some people see immense value, and indeed, use art to navigate the emerging landscape. To deny the nature of the modern would altogether strikes me as reactionary to a troubling degree.
Panero writes that "the job of a contemporary critic remains to seek out that vitality, tell us where to find it, and explore its strengths," and in this, we're in total accord. But it strikes me that rejecting tools outright, even tools that have some downsides, is not a sensible tactic, and indeed, blinds both the artist and the critic to possibilities and new voices. It's foolish to pretend the world hasn't changed, and indeed, not recognizing that salient fact puts the critic already at a disadvantage.
ETA: It occurs to me that, what's bothering me most in the Panero article, is the blanket assertions that television and social media have no role in art or criticism. Writing about navigating the roles they could play, and watching experiments -- even flawed ones -- unfold to be far more interesting. The impulse to remain cloistered has never done any of the arts much good.
Writes Saltz, in the latter article, "I failed at practicing criticism on TV. I wasn’t nearly clear or articulate enough about why I liked and disliked things. I didn’t explain how artists embed thought into material. There’s no doubt in my mind that many other critics would have done better than I did. But I’d gladly try again. I learned a lot from the experience. For decades, nearly every successful artist has come out of art school. I’m not saying forget about school and enter the art world via a reality-TV show. But Work of Art reminded me that there are many ways to become an artist and many communities to be an artist in. The show also changed the way I think about my job. Over the ten weeks it aired, hundreds of strangers stopped me on the street to talk about it. In the middle of nowhere, I’d be having passionate discussions about art with laypeople. It happened in the hundreds, then thousands of comments that appeared below the recaps I wrote for nymag.com. Many of these came from people who said they’d never written about art before. Most were as articulate as any critic. I responded frequently, admitted when I was wrong, and asked others to expand on ideas. By the show’s end, over a quarter-million words had been generated. In my last recap I wrote, 'An accidental art criticism sprang up … Together we were crumbs and butter of a mysterious madeleine. The delivery mechanism had turned itself inside out.' Instead of one voice speaking to the many, there were many voices speaking to me—and one another. Coherently. I now understand that, like us, criticism contains multitudes."
It's hard, coming from a poetry slam background, to not have a visceral sense of empathy for that sentiment. If slam has given the poetry world one great gift, one standard worth standing behind, it's been the democratization of art, the steadfast belief that everyone is entitled to an opinion about the work of art in front of them. It may be ill-informed and, on occasion, drunken, but if a work of art makes you feel nothing, it makes you feel nothing. If it makes you feel something, even if it's what I would deem sentimental claptrap, then it makes you feel something. There's an inherent value in that, and if it's not the be-all and end-all of a piece of art's merit, it's still worthy of consideration. Am I still more interested in reading what, say, Robert Bohm, Susan Somers-Willett, Jordan Davis or Peter Campion have to say about poetry than some guy at the bar? Well, yes. But that's because I'm interested in reading that discussion at a more advanced level, not because the guy at the bar's opinion doesn't matter. (And to be fair, I've more than once taken advice about particular poems from feedback given by random guys at bars.) No, I find, when we get into discussions about criticism, be it poetry criticism or any other artistic genre, I get annoyed by the presupposition that it all needs to be any open thing.
Panero, in an assault on Saltz that seems to comprise equal parts honest concern for the art from, reactionary venom and no small degree of jealousy, writes, "The material intimacy of direct artistic experience—seeing paint, sensing the artist’s hand—does not emerge from social networking. Rather, great art offers a necessary alternative to an over-mediated culture. Art writers should use the internet to counteract the dematerialization of a hyper-connected world, not encourage it through false promises. Criticism is in crisis, but new-media gambits like reality television and social networking, and the illusory communities they generate, are not the answers in themselves. The point of good art criticism, whether you read it in print or online, should be to turn off the computer, shut off the television, and enjoy art in the flesh."
Well ... yes and no. Certainly, I can see Panero's point of view, but there are a couple of statements in this one paragraph that I'm afraid I have to take issue with:
1.) The material intimacy of direct artistic experience—seeing paint, sensing the artist’s hand—does not emerge from social networking.
Fair point, but one does hope that the majority of people commenting on Saltz' articles are, indeed, going out and experiencing the work for themselves, or at least work in their geographic vicinity. What's been lacking in the past has been accessibility to art -- a problem that cuts straight across the arts, from top to bottom. People who may have had some interest in visual art didn't read articles about it, because it was all discussion of something that was far away -- inevitably in New York City, although occasionally London or Paris -- where the publishers and critics lived. The overall effect was alienating, and built walls between artwork and potential audiences. But I do agree that the work should be best experienced first-hand. It's just that social media now makes it a lot easier to figure out where to look, and offers competing views, which challenge art-world establishments.
2.) Rather, great art offers a necessary alternative to an over-mediated culture. Art writers should use the internet to counteract the dematerialization of a hyper-connected world, not encourage it through false promises.
I don't recall this ever being in the job description. Was there a memo? Was it caught in my SPAM filter? All glibness aside, this strikes me as a personal issue, and not a call-to-arms. Art should, to a great degree, reflect the world where it exists. Now, creating work (and criticism) that challenges "dematerialization of a hyper-connected world" is a worthy goal, but I'd hesitate to state it should be the only goal. As with anything in life, the immense connectivity of the day is a mixed bag, with blessings and pitfalls. Some people see immense value, and indeed, use art to navigate the emerging landscape. To deny the nature of the modern would altogether strikes me as reactionary to a troubling degree.
Panero writes that "the job of a contemporary critic remains to seek out that vitality, tell us where to find it, and explore its strengths," and in this, we're in total accord. But it strikes me that rejecting tools outright, even tools that have some downsides, is not a sensible tactic, and indeed, blinds both the artist and the critic to possibilities and new voices. It's foolish to pretend the world hasn't changed, and indeed, not recognizing that salient fact puts the critic already at a disadvantage.
ETA: It occurs to me that, what's bothering me most in the Panero article, is the blanket assertions that television and social media have no role in art or criticism. Writing about navigating the roles they could play, and watching experiments -- even flawed ones -- unfold to be far more interesting. The impulse to remain cloistered has never done any of the arts much good.
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