Art in the 21st century

“Despite all its powers, society cannot sustain the artist if
it is impervious to the vision of the artist.” – Henry Miller

What is art today? More precisely, what does art convey? Art has become an adornment, mere embellishment to our mechanical society. It is what you hang behind an office desk, in the hallway of a bank, in the solitary confines of a museum. It is what is read while we travel between two points, what is listened to while we drive to work, what we assist to in moments of laziness and passive submission to entertainment. It is that which is viewed askance, situated in the periphery, unobtrusive to the real function of society: business.

Art is no longer an expression of a deeper vision of reality; and if it is, we, at least, no longer perceive it as such. It is aesthetic, no doubt. But it is not beautiful enough to secure a prominent role in our routines. As far as we are concerned, it is pastime, an elegant but inferior activity in life. It conveys no truth or doubt to the spectator. Life is predetermined and already decided; art is solely an amusement, even if it constantly fights against modern life. It exists as a hallucination, a sort of intoxication that can easily be dismissed as unreal and irrelevant. The serious business of life cannot be questioned; it has no room for the artist and his or her artwork that challenges the unconsciousness of its drives.

And yet some artists do become idols in this culture and their art known universally, but is their artwork studied as profoundly as we study engineering or business administration? The artists’ message, their restructuring of our understanding of reality, their incessant re-questioning of our basic assumptions, remain quite below the general level of public attention. We all recognize the dripping clock of Dali or the visual massacre of the Guernica, some will recognize the dreamy seascape of La Mer or the cavernous sorrow of the Adagio for Strings, the name of Humbert Humbert or Harry Hope may be familiar to a few, a minority will recall The Waste Land or a Season in Hell; but what is noteworthy here is that recognizing these works of art by their name is no sign that we have delved in them and studied them profoundly. We care only superficially of what they imply, what the message is all about. There is no understanding that an artist is a transformation of the human being and is attempting a redefinition of what is to be alive in a mysterious universe. We assume art as a gift to culture by one and the same kind of individual that already lives in that culture.

Art has now been banalized, it has become a career and today there are flocks of artists that operate as businesses, as factories manufacturing objects to be bought and superficially enjoyed. The true artist is rare these days, he or she is muted and oppressed by this contradiction. How to bring forth a genuine work of art in this spurious world that is driven by money? The voice of art is being drowned by the roar of commerce and trivial entertainment. Society has absorbed art; and the artist has docilely submitted to his or her new harrowing role of ornamentalist. The commandments of art are now thus: you shall entertain, you shall impress, you shall produce the beautiful, you shall be famous, but under no circumstance should you dishonor your loving parent: society. Society does not want individuals to think and act differently, to produce controversies that may outstrip the authority of the status quo. Art may produce change insofar as it remains within the parameters of the socially digestible.

The artist is no longer an artist. He or she has forgotten that divine calling of making of life an experiment. The artist must suffer eternally, must wrestle with the incongruities and absurdities of living and dying, must explore the unknown realm of the spirit and  (in the words of Rimbaud)become a seer. The work produced thereafter will be only an inkling, an announcement of vaster realms accessible to all, it is an opening at the roof of an abyss for those who dare plunge into it. The experiential adventure of consciousness is now going extinct, there are few enthusiasts left. It is a form of wisdom that society ignores and lumps together under the heading “esoteric mumbo-jumbo”, or more spitefully, “madness”. (Hasn’t history shown that many great artists were deemed mad in their time, only later to be proclaimed visionaries?). And yet this wisdom is no particular statement or philosophy; it is an active engagement with the mystery of creation, what once was the domain of the artist and religious fervent. Today art as well as religion is downplayed as historical curiosity, still operating as long as they leave intact, and even follow, the new order created by the God of modern civilization: money.

On Art or the Philosophy of Art

Art is perception. Perception with meaning. Meaning that goes beyond the insipid realm of words. Philosophers have in vain struggled to define reality. Careful consideration will prove this to be the most absurd conundrum. By definition, the only objects we can define are words. The act of defining is providing an object of reality a corresponding word to name it. Words are sign posts. They point to something other than themselves. Existence is not a word. An attempt to define it is as impossible as to receive nutrition by naming all the ingredients in the plate of food in front of you. Knowledge is not words. Knowledge is to grasp the meaning behind the words. If it were possible one day that, at the peak of our scientific and philosophical endeavor, we attain awareness of all the processes of nature and biological life we may set up a (sign post) model of the whole of reality with words and mathematical formulas, all we’ve done is created a new universe, a replica of this one in our heads. We wouldn’t have defined reality, we would have reproduced it. Reality does not have a meaning, it is meaningless. The only objects that have meaning are the man-made. Or more precisely, meaning comes through as man is The Beholder of the World. A tree does not have meaning, it is not false or true, it just is. Veracity and falsity are only found in our propositions about things, not in things themselves. By nature we are beings that dwell upon Meaning. We are in love with the quest of finding an image of ourselves. We want to become contemplators of our own intimate nature. As the highest quest in life is to know oneself through and through we create mental images of ourselves. For once we have a complete image of ourselves we surpass it, we are new individual with a new knowledge, in short, we are born again.

 

The objects of art pursue this conquest. They speak to us in perceptions of form and color. They illuminate the objects of our world and their relationship with ourselves. They are, in the highest sense of the word, philosophical. For philosophy. in the most naive sense, is reflection. The Objets d’art reflect the world the surrounds us and is hidden within us, they provide a laboratory for transforming our being. Art materializes into the physical world unspoken intuitions that make up our inner constitution; we bring forth into the world a mirror that reflects our cavernous soul. With the images of art we can shape our mind, for our mind is like a block of marble. The art of life is to mold this sculpture; it is the process of transformation that is at the heart of life itself.