Not Too Much, Not Too Little: Content in art
28 May 2008 5 Comments
In the last pages of Time-Life’s The World of Bruegel, I came across one of the most poignant quotations on art — speaking, it seems to me, particularly to the making of art — that I can remember in quite some time. From page 169:
Great paintings are not photographs but doorways into another world, a world so complete and so compelling that the eye and the mind of the viewer are drawn deeper and deeper into it. If the painting has too little content or none at all, only the eye will be pleased. Nor will the mind and imagination be engaged in it if the content is too literal or commonplace, stating everything but implying nothing. Such paintings, though recognizably real, will remain mere factual surfaces.
This from the editors of a book I criticized, too harshly in my wife’s opinion, this past March. I’m not exactly certain what to take away from the quotation as someone who 1) works in three dimensions as opposed to on canvas or board and 2) is innately drawn to minimalistic and abstract forms, but the observation seems to possess some value so I’m diving deeper into the rabbit hole.
Portraiture is often guilty of attempting to convey too much content in my opinion. Very little is left to the imagination in works such as Jacques-Louis David’s Napoleon. Part of this may be a generational or historical ignorance if the painting utilizes symbolism lost on viewers not intimately familiar with art history, but frankly this work is little more than eye candy in a visual sense.
It’s easy, however, for me to think of portraits that I do find engaging. Girl With a Pearl Earring, the Mona Lisa and — though less formal — Manet’s A Bar at the Folies Bergere come to mind.
Girl with a Pearl Earring is one of my favorite paintings, not just portraits. It is wonderfully successful in it’s use of color, composition and countenance. The slightly open lips and black background add an incredible amount of interest. The Mona Lisa, while not a personal favorite, succeeds in the imaginative department with its surreal setting and, again, a facial expression that’s not quite definable. The Manet pictured above is another on the top of my own list. It is so easy in this painting for the viewer to climb into the bartender’s thoughts through her countenance. And while the proportions of her figure seem a bit awkward (though they may be accurate taking into account the crazy corsets of the represented time), the fact that her body is just off center — note the different spaces between her arms and torso on each side of the figure — lends an incredible sense of believability.
The aforementioned Napoleon has none of these things. It is stern and matter-of-fact, not asking anything of the person looking at the painting.
Perhaps a more interesting direction to take this discussion is how the quote relates to non-representational works, if it does. It’s easy to see how people might think these kind of paintings have too little content. For instance, does Jackson Pollock’s work from his “drip period” have any content to speak of? What about Rothko’s famous works? Does a piece of art need to have a recognizable element in order to have content?
David’s portrait of Napolean comes about as close as art ever comes to being genuinely “realist.” By this I mean, “realism” is less a style for David than truly remarkable life-lifeness.
To suggest it lacks “imagination” — hmm, would we say that Nature also “leaves little to imagine”? (The inclusion of the clock, for instance, is very enigmatic when you think of it. A painting is made over long periods of time, yet the clock of course shows a particular frozen hour. This topos comes back early in modern art with Cezanne’s Black Clock and numerous other places.)
Well, I thought somebody should defend David! After all, he’s a grand old master. Otherwise, I find your remarks very fine.
Looked at your portfolio: being that you are someone who “is innately drawn to minimalistic and abstract forms,” what is the significance of these photographic views? Are your works really “3-dimensional” in the sense of having their meaning from multiple angles? Ask yourself why you chose these particular angles from which to photograph. What other “significant” angles are omitted? What are the significant angles, how many are there?
Also, what is the scale — the relationship between these things and a spectator? Some pieces “float” in the black background of the photo — what about the object in other settings?
Addressing some of these questions, I think, might help you think about the meaning question in regard to your own work.
Meanwhile, what a lovely quote about Bruegal, and how kind of you to share it.
Thanks for defending the old master
I wasn’t picking on anyone in particular; that image was just the first to come to mind. I need to update that portfolio page. I’m finally getting around to some new work that would be more relevant. It’s been suggested that the best way to give internet viewers an idea of sculpture is with video, but since I don’t have a video camera I stick with the tried and true photographs.
The passage you quoted pretty well sums up where I am on content just now. Your own comments were well stated, too. There is a fine line between telling a story and writing a report, and my own successes in painting always involve backing off from being too rigid and literal, because that’s my natural tendency… I love details.
Sargent was an absolute master at telling just enough.
“For instance, does Jackson Pollock’s work from his “drip period” have any content to speak of? What about Rothko’s famous works? Does a piece of art need to have a recognizable element in order to have content?”
These are great questions. I did not understand these artists until I started reading beyond the description of them in art history books and started reading Rothko’s essays on art and so forth.
It is hard to grasp the concept of un-recognizable content when we are surrounded daily with recognizable elements.
I recently passed by David’s Napolean picture at the National Gallery and thought about your comments!
If you can photograph your sculpture sometime in video, wouldn’t that add a new wrinkle?
But I still think you should ponder the “views” you have because you chose them, and thus they mean something to you. And that pondering — well, who knows where it might lead? A small voyage in self-discovery.