February 19, 2007
The Education of an Open Door
There is a question and it pesters my mind like a dripping faucet on dirty dishes in an empty and quiet kitchen.
What is the point of Art? What is it's biggest asset and service in society? Is the essence of art - and it's purpose - found it the process of making art, or the act of viewing it?
In other words: who benefits most from this thing we call Art? The artist while making it (of expression), or the viewer when seeing it (of receiving)?
The answer, I have found, can be discovered with a truer question. That question arises when your own art hangs in a gallery on a college campus. And in that same gallery on that same campus, you have your office and you leave your door open. With me on one side of a wall, my photography and Exhibit Statement on the other side, and an open door on the adjacent wall, the answer, and a new question came from a faceless and anonymous voice on the other side of the wall.
(2:13 PM Thursday. ver batem.)
"I read this sign."
"What is this guy trying to say that these aren't photographs? I don't get it at all. I mean, I took photography for two years in High School. I could blow this stuff out of the water."
"How long is he going to leave these up here anyway? They've been here for like a month."
At first i wanted to get up and walk outside and see who was saying this. I even stood up and started for the door. Instead, I sat back down and listened. I was getting far more out of this situation than they were, I decided.
The dripping in my head has changed it's tone: Is the biggest service, education, – and even motivation – afforded by Art found in it's acceptance, or in it's rejection? Are people - am I - compelled to work, and often work tirelessly, even sometimes destructively, to create their Art for acceptance, honor and recognition or for judgment, rejection and even mockery. Which perpetuates better- or at least more - art?
As the voice fell silent on in the gallery and the footsteps walked away. I realized I was mildly exhilarated. I was almost happy that they didn't like it. Moreover, they didn't even understand it, to properly agree or disagree with it; and I was fine with that. I sat back in my chair and heard the faucet filling the sink. The door was wide open. I felt extremely alone. Somehow, my art had served a purpose for me, in a way that viewer on the other side of the wall would never understand.
Art has an inverse correlation. It's process enriched when it's outcome is not welcomed.
Art, sometimes like life, is inherently created from failure; it's beauty born and it's essence formed from sadness.
