stop sign. Deeper work, richer work, reveals itself over time. It can be revisited even after decades and found to be still communicating, still alive—a digression here about that word.
We use the word alive to indicate that we are having an aesthetic experience when we look at an inanimate object. More correctly, we are projecting a complex series of expectations, assumptions, preferences and emotions onto this thing, and “reading” the results. For a detailed discussion of this point, the reader is directed to A Primer on Visual Literacy by Donis A. Dondis, (Cambridge Press.) Taken together, expectations, assumptions, preferences and feelings are the lens through which we look, and if that lens does not expand or correct itself, we are prisoners of our enfeebled knowledge. The less knowledgeable among us will apply pedestrian personal preferences. The more knowledgeable among us will add to that base a broad understanding of the culture which produced the work, information about the particular artist or tradition from which it sprang, and an appreciation of how previous generations have interpreted and valued the object. Those factors are what constitute the body of an informed opinion. If you argue against having an informed opinion, you are on the side of either ignorance or of iconoclasm; that’s fine as long as that is your intention. We usually own the aesthetic facility we have earned.
But if we desire to have an informed opinion, how do we acquire it? By learning to discipline our thoughts and to repeatedly ask these questions: What am I missing here? What do others see that I do not? Have I come to my own preferences honestly? |
The answer can’t always be that you alone hold the truth and all others are misled. But it takes rigorous practice and intellectual courage to consistently ponder our aesthetic experiences. Jon Kabat-Zinn says, “Inquiry takes on a life of its own after a while . . . it will wind up doing you rather than you doing it.” Alternatively, it’s so easy to quickly pass judgment and then move on. But the cost is measurable—and often very apparent to others.
If we go to the trouble to become informed and then we meet up with several other people who have done the same thing, will we have absolute agreement on the question of aesthetic quality? Most likely not. Although each member of the group might consider the same contributing variables, they will not give each variable the same weight. But what will emerge is worth considering—it’s the consensus. A simple example is illustrated by this Venn diagram. Each circle represents the whole of what each person knows and values. No two are located in exactly the same place, but the overlapping areas reveal their shared truth. It is comforting to me that this diagram perfectly matches the argument of one of the most important philosophers of modern times, Ludwig Wittgenstein, and the teachings of ancient Buddhist thought. I timidly paraphrase those two sources as follows: To claim that we alone have the singular knowledge about the best of any case is a fool’s claim; there are too many variables and too many contexts for which to account. What we can say is that under many conditions and in many cases, these several qualities will be consistently present. We can expect to see them repeatedly, but we should not demand it. After all, the case could change at any time and we could have our teachable moment.
Thinking about a consensus of aesthetics brings me to the iconic object. These are objects that acquire great status long after they are completed. Two examples are the plate by Peter Voulkos (see image on the next page) and the Scarab Vase by Adelaide Alsop Robineau
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