PrintAfter six years of art classes, two years in a studio, and one year of art history, there is a question I still can’t answer satisfactorily. What is art? For some, like my friend Ana Baric, a Columbia College first-year, the question issues a minimal challenge. “Art is what Ana thinks is pretty,” she tells me with a twinge of sarcasm. She may be kidding, but for many, a similar answer has become standard in response to the incredible variety of works being produced in the modern day.
When looking back on history, many scholars agree that certain pieces stand out as turning points in artistic development. Their creators are so famous that children learn their names in kindergarten—da Vinci, Picasso, Michelangelo. Who can say that these figures are not great? But as times have changed, so have artistic standards. Since painting and sculpture-making became accessible professions and Marcel Duchamp flushed old conventions down the drain, the question of what could be labeled “art” became more difficult to answer than ever before. Now, in 2009, the range of what we call “art” spans from messages scrawled in Sharpie on garbage to Polaroids covered with semen. Is it any wonder that no one can agree on the boundaries of the category called “contemporary art?”
That term is simple enough. Why not take contemporary art literally and define it only according to the words that comprise it? “Contemporary art is what has been done in the last few years by someone who is still alive. I don’t attribute any specific value to it,” says Cybel Martin, a New York based artist. To her, the definition needs no parameters besides the time frame in which the art is made. Josiah Perry, husband of artist Deborah Perry, concurs, saying, “Contemporary art reflects and inherits the time period it is made in.” Though simple and direct, this definition leaves plenty of room for questions. Should I consider my brother’s stapled piece of construction paper gallery-worthy? Should I put my doodles on the market? After all, they were made just this morning. According to Martin and Perry, that should be enough.
Many share my hesitation to fully support the above definition. They believe that contemporary works must fulfill one main requirement to be called art—interaction with the audience. “The communication between the artist and the viewer is what defines art. If it’s not there, it’s not art,” says Tony Martinez, an art lover. Jason Alborn, a Columbia College first-year, agrees: “The artist should be able to convey something that’s somewhat universal.” Essentially, both Martinez and Alborn believe that their understanding of a work should somehow coincide with the artist’s intent. This point of view is understandable. After all, art is a way for a person to share his or her innermost ideas, emotions, and complexities with the world. If the viewer can’t get any sense of what the artist is presenting, what value can the art hold for them? If the art means little to anyone but the one who creates it, how is it more than a therapeutic hobby?
Still others assign much deeper values to current works. “Contemporary art is expanding the definition of art. Graffiti was previously considered a ‘low’ art, but now it’s been elevated to a whole new level,” points out Sammy Lbonard, a Brooklyn-based artist. His definition brings up an interesting aspect of contemporary art—the technique involved.
Technical skill, which in the past was prized above all other aspects of a work, has now become a questionable necessity. In the end, if a work can make us cry, does it matter if the artist can sketch out a perfectly proportioned face? “The technique doesn’t matter as much as the meaning. As long as it evokes emotion, it’s still art,” says Juxtapose, a local musician. His assertion is supported by art classes across the country in which a student’s passion often has more value than her skill.
However, not everyone believes that the worth of technique has diminished. “Training is very important—you need to know why and how you’re going to break the rules,” says Tai Allen, a contemporary artist. Training, it seems, is the entry point into the world of art. It is the platform for exploration, and in contemporary art, it often becomes invisible, even though it is still present. A picture of a humongous puppy might look ridiculous, yet the drafts, graphs, and diagrams that are needed for it to exist are endless, though we never see them. What was considered useful in terms of technique 100 years ago might be outdated now. Painting and drawing are often secondary to maneuvering a computer program or scaling a wall.
Contemporary art can frequently appear offensive, disgusting, and aggressive. Even an objective viewer at times feels repulsed at works featured in galleries and museums. One cannot help but wonder whether contemporary art is crossing a line. Josiah Perry can easily think of an ostentatiously offensive artwork recently published—a certain infamous cartoon in the New York Post involving an ape and a snide remark about the economic stimulus—which he believes went too far. Though not a typical example of museum art, cartoons are drawings put forth for an audience, which makes them art in Perry’s eyes. Many would agree with Perry. After all, when a work of art is that blatantly offensive, isn’t it pushing the boundaries a little bit too violently?
Jason Alborn takes a different perspective on this issue. “Of course art is crossing lines,” he says. Alborn has a point: Art has been defying norms since its very conception on the inner sanctums of caves. If it did not challenge established traditions and push our buttons, it would never have progressed past stick figures and geometric bison. Allen agrees, saying, “Why is crossing lines always associated with negative qualities?”
To many, art must challenge its audience. Otherwise, what’s the point? If we cannot feel the personality of the artist behind a work and respond in some way, why should we view it? Maybe, in the end, this is the most important aspect of contemporary art. If the only way an artist can express himself is through a Jesus made out of feces, then I say do it. I may not like it, I may even feel repulsed, but I’m reacting. I’m thinking, and at the end of the day, that’s what counts.