I work on the Upper East Side in New York City, and as part of my job take a walk — sometimes twice a day, when necessary — to the main building of Weill Cornell Medical College, to pick up and drop off mail at the mail room and to pick up and drop off any deliveries that may be needed among the various departments of the College. It is quite a pleasant walk, chiefly because of all of the sights that I am fortunate to see, and the beautiful architecture I can enjoy daily.
Since the day that I read the article The Mechanist on Not Being an Artist, I have often thought back to it, particularly when I am walking to my office and I pass what I consider to be the most elegant yet dangerous mode of street transportation — the motorcycle. I have given it much thought because every time I see a well designed and built motorcycle, my first thought is that I am lucky to have come across it and that it is as if I have entered a museum — only that I am clearly the sole visitor to the museum, and there is no admission fee.
Recently, I came across a motorcycle that was so lovely that I had to take a picture of it with my phone to share with you. Here it is in all of its glory.
When I was a child, Peanuts was one of my favorite comics in the Sunday newspaper — for that was the only day of the week that my father bought the newspaper, as it had plenty of coupons for our bi-weekly grocery shopping trips. I also got collections of the comic from when my father would go to garage sales — so even well before you could find hundreds of the comic online for free, I had access to strips from the fifties and sixties.
I live my life trying to create Art and Beauty in all conditions and I also do my best to recognize and celebrate Art and Beauty in others — even if they do not recognize those gifts in themselves. I know a sandwich maker can be an Artist. It’s all about intention and the cut of the knife and the slice of the bread and, of course, choosing just the right condiments. While an Artist can create a sandwich, a sandwich is never really a piece of Art because Art — in its essence — must have the capacity to endure. Sandwiches, by their very nature, are crafted to be temporary and dissolved. Albert Einstein was an Artist as was Alexander the Great.
Imagine my surprise the other day when a new online friend sent me a gift — something he’d made with tools and machines he’d created in a faraway land — and I wrote him an email to thank him and celebrate his talent and my “You’re an Artist!” compliment was wholly rebuffed. I’d unwittingly insulted The Mechanist by identifying his keen aesthetic.
We’re in trouble in the good ole USA. Our academies of higher learning are giving in to the bad behavior of the students seeking to earn diplomas from their educational institutions. Our values as a civilization are under attack by leading educators who wish to dumb-down the curriculum to better suit students who are applying to colleges stupider, less talented, and much more self-interested than ever before. The disconnect between classroom realism and real life reality is enough to make your brain explode in flames as you come to realize our great nation of minds is quickly decaying into a leveling pit of repurposed mediocrity:
LeRoy Neiman was — more than anything — a businessman. He knew how to make money with bright colors and call it “art.” I don’t really consider LeRoy a True Artist — and I don’t think he did, either — because he was sort of cynical about the Art Game and he played the corners and surrounded the edges of the business of squeezing as much profit as possible from his palette of colors. He was more publisher than painter. More printmaker than trailblazer. Yesterday, LeRoy Neiman died rich at age 91, and the Art community is left behind to struggle with the aftermath of his legacy of commerce over providence and the fact of how the bottom line can mockingly override original intention.
On October 26, 2007 in our WordPunk blog, I wrote an article — Is Stealing Ever Good? — advocating the theft of inspiration as a qualified original intent:
Some call stealing inspiration, but if you see or experience something and then change or employ those experiences in your life — you have effectively borrowed and stolen the thoughts of others and I wholly encourage that effort.
I am not condoning plagiarism, but I am supporting the opportunity to consider and use ideas that are not your own because there are no original thoughts left in the world.
Over the weekend, I read a fascinating article in the New York Times indicating that the world-famous “copy” of the Mona Lisa was probably actually sanctioned by the great Leonardo da Vinci himself:
Gears turn, machines come alive and ink splatters over metal, making the same sign over and over again — do not park here, street sweeping, please clean after your dog… all entirely uniform and wonderful in its own way, but still lacking something. What is it lacking? You don’t really get a good feel for it until you find yourself walking down the street and see a wooden sign nailed to a street pole with a simply painted dog, a hand behind it with a broom pan and three words — “Please clean up!” The grammarian in you aches to find the creator of the sign to point out the obvious prepositional phrase issue but you are warmed by the very sight of the sign.
A week ago, in our Panopticonic blog, I wrote an article — BigBelly Solar Recycling in Jersey City — and less than a week later, those divine BigBelly landmarks in our urban core have become geographic eyesores as red graffiti pocks the new surface of the metal bins. Here’s how one BigBelly looked after its aesthetic destruction at the hands of some Jersey City Heights hooligan:
Here’s how that same BigBelly looked less than a week ago:
Not too long ago, we addressed the question of whether art could be quantified. What I would like to consider is if all we need to do to consider something art is to merely apply the label art to it. Having already seen the curious art of Caleb Larsen, I thought I had seen it all when it came to art that didn’t really seem like art to me. I was ill prepared for the shock I would receive when I came across a web site created by Nate Hill called White Power Milk.
When a vandal sneaks his or her vicious activity into a museum or art space, we are saddened. A painting may have its surface damaged, or a statue may be chipped or even outright broken. When this happens to an older piece of art it is especially upsetting — it’s not as though we can bring back Leonardo Da Vinci back to properly restore The Last Supper and so other people have to step in when it sustains considerable damage as it did during the second World War.
When we think of Art, we must take into careful consideration the three elements for understanding. The Maker. The Object. The Receiver. Without all three of those equal, triangulating elements, Art does not exist beyond the ordinariness of just being.
We live in a cruel world. There is suffering. There is a lack of human compassion. We prefer the preservation of the self over the welfare of others.
When we have a national discourse about money and Art and the role of the artist in society, we are left with a massive hole of misunderstanding that cannot yet be bridged: You Cannot Quantify Art.
