(see image on page 34). Each becomes an iconic work by repeated exposure and ongoing discussion. These pieces take hold of the collective consciousness of the public and separate themselves from all others. Additionally, they become well known for being well known. WE, not the maker, contribute to their identity. In some subtle but real way, these objects are transcendent because their fame precedes them. Many of us hold these pieces in our mind, capable of being summoned just like a quotation, and for similar purposes. Just their mention locates the discussion and references other relevant examples, whether collectively or individually known. If you make more than a few of them, you’ll be famous. But you won’t have done it alone; WE will have played an essential role.
A thought about that large WE. Once a work enters the public square, an inevitable force appears that massages the purely aesthetic consensus. That force is money, and it softens and moves the aesthetic value. What began as a direct artistic expression ultimately becomes a commodity. Part of its aesthetic value is expressed in currency. Further, the consensus is no longer egalitarian because in the market place, even the market place of aesthetics, some of us are more influential than others—even if we are not more informed. Those that really count are the people with wealth, access or influence; maybe all three. To twist Kinky Friedman’s saying: It’s about the Rockefellers, not the regular fellas. When these individuals collect, they protect their collections. After all, the collections represent not only huge sums of money, but they signify personal sophistication and passion. And, since these people truly love the arts, they support not just artists, but museums and institutions—institutions |
that may eventually wind up housing their collections. After all, collectors who are also donors can usually trump any other group, even the cognoscenti—but they are not mutually exclusive.
Earlier I asked about moving things from the hate box to the love box. If we want to be people of insight and reflection, and we commit to a life of cultural inquiry, some moving seems like an inevitable outcome. My own most recent experience of this sort involves Van Briggle art pottery, made in Colorado in the early 1900s (see image below). Until just a few years ago I wouldn’t have given you a nickel for any of this work—too sterile, too labored, too frumpy and too tired. But I’ve acquired a taste for tired. I actually prefer necks and knees with wrinkles. At the end of my arms I see my father’s hands. I relate in the most personal of ways to fruit that is just a few days too ripe, just a little too pungent. I’m drawn to the aesthetic of those old pots that came out of Colorado Springs in 1905; it’s the empathy and comfort of like mindedness.
My thoughts here are an invitation to reflect more fully on our aesthetic experience. If you have read this far, you have probably accepted that invitation and I’m safe in revealing one last notion. You may have started reading in hopes of getting some answers and what I’ve left you with is more questions. What I’m suggesting is that the only way to better answers is through better questions.
Be patient with yourself; there are no shortcuts; we have to give time some time. We will still see what we are looking for, but we wil be looking more broadly and more deeply. The process itself will be as valuable as any of our insights. In this way we will fulfill our human potential for the aesthetic experience.
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