This being my 500th entry, I thought I would wax a little philosophical.
Back when I was actually taking philosophy in college, I was always intrigued by the basic idea of what it is that comprises identity. Generally, the concept is introduced with a question like-If your arm is chopped off and replaced with a prosthetic, are you still the same person you were before? Then what about a leg? The questioning goes on removing and adding body parts to start the conversation about how much has to be removed before you are no longer you. Accompanying the question is also the idea of whether the loss of certain senses changes you since you no longer experience the world in the same manner.
The final examine for the course challenged us to compare what different philosophers would say about the identity of crew members on the Star Trek television shows given that the process of “beaming down” demolecularized and then reconstituted them.
Sure it sounds strange, but the essential questions of identity come up quite often in conversation on many topics. Certainly, it emerges all the time in regard to art. One of the first questions most arts students are asked explicitly or implicitly is what is art? One of the initial separations people try to make is between art and craft and then pare their definitions down little by little hoping to find that one defining element wherein art resides.
Given that a pieces of clay shaped into water jugs by Incan potters 500 years ago are enshrined as art objects in museums and private collections, people are often uneasy making definite statements about the difference between art and craft and never get beyond that point.
If distilling the elements of art were so easy to do, someone would mix it with the ingredients of quality, bottle and sell it.
If things do get bogged down or boring during your debate about art, you can always introduce James Joyce’s idea that all the art we see these days, including Norman Rockwell’s paintings, is pornography.
The truth is, seeking the ingredients of art can be just as fun as boldly walking into a room and accusing Norman Rockwell of being an arch-pornographer.
Go into the rehearsals for a new play and try to figure out when it becomes art. Does it happen during rehearsals? Does it happen on opening night? Does it happen some 10 days into the run when everyone settles into their stride? Does it happen at different times for different actors? Has the set and lighting always been artistic from the start but the show doesn’t become art until the acting ensemble integrates itself with these elements?
Was art created the moment the platonic ideal of the show coalesced in the director’s head? Since performance is meant to be experienced by others, is it not validated as art until someone has witnessed it?
If the performance is awful, was art created? Given that the work of many visual artists wasn’t appreciated until after their deaths, art can obviously exist independently of perceived quality and value.
Similar criteria can be applied to paint brush strokes, musical notes and poetic phrases.
Engaging in this sort of speculation with a light heart can make an arts experience enjoyable and I daresay will sharpen one’s perceptions as one endeavors to spot the point at which the ingredients transmuted into art.
Now some may think that coming to these realizations is a great argument for the teaching of philosophy. I should note that I believe I got a C+ in the class and that was probably mercy on the part of the professor. At some point, the lessons started to sink in and make sense in the context of the world at large.
Hmm, I wonder if I can discern the point in my life when the knowledge finally turned in to comprehension….