Looking, or not
Michael Kimmelman’s essay on the front page of the NY Times today talks about the way people behave at great museums, the Louvre in this case. He is struck by the fact that many don’t seem to look at the art but are content, if they stop at all, to take a quick photo and then move on. He writes:
Cameras replaced sketching by the last century; convenience trumped engagement, the viewfinder afforded emotional distance and many people no longer felt the same urgency to look. It became possible to imagine that because a reproduction of an image was safely squirreled away in a camera or cell phone, or because it was eternally available on the Web, dawdling before an original was a waste of time, especially with so much ground to cover.
We could dream about covering lots of ground thanks to expanding collections and faster means of transportation. At the same time, the canon of art that provided guideposts to tell people where to go and what to look at was gradually dismantled. A core of shared values yielded to an equality among visual materials. This was good and necessary, up to a point. Millions of images came to compete for our attention. Liberated by a proliferation, Western culture was also set adrift in an ocean of passing stimulation, with no anchors to secure it.
So tourists now wander through museums, seeking to fulfill their lifetime’s art history requirement in a day, wondering whether it may now be the quantity of material they pass by rather than the quality of concentration they bring to what few things they choose to focus upon that determines whether they have “done” the Louvre. It’s self-improvement on the fly.
I’ve noted the same phenomenon with regard to monuments or natural vistas: how many people don’t stop to look and to admire, but are content to take a quick photo or two and then get back on the tour bus for the next stop. Everything has to be framed within a view-finder. (Could this be the influence of television–the framed shot?) I saw something symbolic the last time I was in Rome. When I stopped by the Trevi Fountain, I watched a man with his back to the fountain, arm outstretched with his cell-phone in his hand, taking a photo of himself in front of the fountain. A photo of himself looking away from the fountain somehow sums it up.
I guess the question I have is whether museums–collections of odd bits and pieces of stuff arranged four feet apart–really encourage anything but a snapshot mentality.
Have to say I have never noticed this phenomenon.
In fact, once at the Detroit Institute of Art, some young hooligans, maybe 10 years old, went tearing through the halls to the African art display room, chanting “pin man, pin man.” We followed them to see what the commotion was, and were confronted with a wooden figure, about four feet high, studded with nails, razor blades and other sharp items.
“See, I told you Pin Man was the coolest thing in here,” said one of the boys, bless his little art loving heart.
It’s possible to blame TV, I guess–everybody blames TV for pretty much everything they don’t like–but TV is the only way I’ll ever see most art, opera, and theater. Plus TV brought us the wonderful Sister Wendy.
I wonder if the real problem is our fixation with status and money. Something like, “Well, I paid thousands of bucks for my trip to Paris, and by jingo, I want people to know it.”
Can’t count how many times I’ve wanted a pair of scissors when co-workers descend on my office with a six-inch stack of photos of their vacation, kid’s wedding, prom, AKA registered puppy, christening, or (God help me) new car, so I can see in excruciating detail how much it all cost and how lovely it was and, by implication, how luck I am to know such tasteful and well-heeled individuals.
Museums are about anxiety as much as pleasure. First one worries that one’s thoughts and impressions while standing in front of a painting are not quite worthy of the painting, or are just incoherent or uneducated. Then one worries about retaining any of the experience of that painting out of all the others. One worries about whether the trip to the museum, the trip to Paris, the vacation, has been well-spent and whether it has changed or made any difference to one’s life, apart from the meals of course. So one snaps a photo or buys a postcard of the painitng in the museum shop. Buying the postcard is a way to look again at the painting; taking the photo tries to capture the state of mind of being a dazed and anxious museum patron.
Better to stay at home!
And isn’t the framed shot an echo of the frame on the wall around the painting?
Makes me want to go back to E. M. Forster and Mark Twain for a look at the touring classes of past centuries. Did the rank and file really do so much better in museums then? And anyway, didn’t most of the people who had the wherewithal to travel back then also have a classical, Public/Prep school art education?
How do you know how long the guy was standing in front of the fountain? Unless he walks backward he must have seen it to find it. It’s not a small thing, like the Mona Lisa — you can see it 30 feet away, at least.
In other words, so much of what we perceive in matters like this often corresponds to what we want to see — to validate a pre-existing hypothesis.
Viewing art is also interactive and some museums are far friendlier for viewing than others. I don’t much care for the big galleries in the Louvre, which was built as a palace, not a museum. It makes viewing art difficult (so does the musee d’Orsay), a problem compounded by the sheer volume of visitors. I would bet many dollars that the viewing that takes place in the Prado is very different — but then, the Prado was built as a museum with viewing of art as the primary object of its existence, and with its “highlights” scattered throughout in smaller galleries that you must seek out.
Barbara: Talk about validating a pre-existing hypothesis!
You’re right about many of the European museums which were not built for that purpose. I remember a German remarking that most of the American museums were built to be museums and were for that reason superior, as buildings, to the European. I remember the first time I visited the Louvre and after three hours or so walking through rooms filled with works by the masters and not caring. Time to stop and come back another day. Overload.
What the article, and my comment, were really intending, I think, was that many people don’t really stop to look, to admire. Some of them don’t even look at what they’re photographing except through the view-finder. Click, click. OK, what’s next?
Digital cameras are a recent innovation, but these occurrences shouldn’t be isolated from the past. Decades ago Dwight Macdonald used to mock the masses of museum-goers for the habit of looking at a painting for 20 seconds then heading to the next one. Now they may stop for 5 seconds to snap a photo, but really is it that much different from the 1950s or 1970s?
A leftist in politics – he was one of a few Old Leftists that approved the New Left – Macdonald was nonetheless contemptuous of “middlebrow” which he considered a natural product of middle-class mobility (and democracy). To him this mentality of museum-going is to be one piece of other middlebrow activities like opera-going and reading. He even wrote an long article savagely mocking the pretensions of the producers and consumers of the Great Books set.
I like snobs and found Macdonald’s elitism fun to read. But I also think he missed some significant points about democratic culture, which could be a big leveler of high culture but also provided plenty of opportunities to those from middle- and working-class background. This is another way of saying I am more tolerant of snappers of digital photos in museums than the author of the NYT article seems to be, if because they aren’t that different from most museum visitors of the not-too-distant past. Also because out of those thousands and hundreds of thousands of visitors, a few of them may return on a less crowded weekday to soak in the view a bit more deeply. Exposure is the start of possible interest and contemplation, and a democratic culture provides exposure better than other political cultures in history.
I think Walker Percy voiced the same criticism fifty years ago, something about people going to the Grand Canyon and seeing the lens on their camera rather than the canyon itself.
As an inveterate museum-goer, I’ve seen every possible variation. People who race through. People who bring their own magnifying glasses and spend hours. People who are looking for one specific thing. People whose idea of seeing a gallery is to see everything in it in its proper order.
My own pace is slow; I spend a lot of time looking at individual art works. Thus I am extremely grateful that the general attention span is so short. Any given work of art, mobbed at one moment, I know will capture its viewers only briefly, and then I can see it. They paid the admission — they are supporting my habits indirectly. I love them. Their easily distracted presence, at full price, is a boon for me!
But I will say that this business of taking pictures is getting out of hand. We are always having to duck or get out of the way of cameras now. It used to be forbidden and now except for manuscript collections, its ubiquitous. I am considering disobeying the etiquette that says one must make way for photographers. We are there to see the art, and the picture takers really monopolize more space and time than they should.
Above I might have been somewhat simplistic about Dwight Macdonald, as he and other critics of postwar mass culture were more sophisticated. So here’s a longer reflection that carries a few quotations of him.
http://www.mnstate.edu/gracyk/courses/mla%20course/march_2.htm
Three main reasons –
** So much to see, so little time to see it.
** The use of tour groups and tour guides, who speed folks from one place to the next (often times without even stopping the bus).
** Seeing the exhibit, etc., with another person or other persons, rather than going all by yourself. When you are alone, you feel comfortable taking all the time in the world; when you are with others, unless you are selfish, you feel obligated to keep moving because they may not be as interested in a given piece as you might be.
In defense of picture takers (not all, many are no doubt just as superficial as we are led to believe) I just went through the pictures my obsessive picture taker husband took of some things we saw in France — if the pictures are nice enough (his are) you can see and remember what it was that was special.
In all seriousness, given how the vastness of the Louvre overwhelms all but the largest of paintings, in particular, and presents its biggest treasures (the Mona Lisa, in particular) outside of any historical context, it’s virtually impossible to appreciate what makes painting special. Not all Louvre galleries are like this, but I’ve been to Leonardo exhibits of so-called lesser paintings that were presented in intimate settings and better context and it is much easier to appreciate than in the Louvre. Which is to say, your picture of the Mona Lisa, or one in a book, probably gives you no less of an aesthetic experience than seeing it in the Louvre.
One of the things that makes art viewing so much fun in Rome is that there is no boffo gallery (the Vatican galleries come closest). I have a book of “where to find . . .” a number of artists, and it has you traipsing all over Rome, to churches, little museums and historical houses, to see, usually, no more than one work at a time. When you came just to see one, you spend more time looking at it.
Rita Ferrone wrote:
But I will say that this business of taking pictures is getting out of hand. We are always having to duck or get out of the way of cameras now. It used to be forbidden and now except for manuscript collections, its ubiquitous. I am considering disobeying the etiquette that says one must make way for photographers. We are there to see the art, and the picture takers really monopolize more space and time than they should.
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This is true, taking photos used to be banned. Digital cameras, on the other hand, are much more quiet and can take relatively clear photos without flash: main reasons, I believe, that museums have allowed them.
But I also think that because digital cameras are new, societies are still learning about etiquette and rules and such: like cell phones. It is likely that museums will change or revise their rules about these cameras in the near future, were they prove a constant distraction to others. Or, museum goers without cameras may also learn to tune out such distractions over time: similar to how some of us have learned to tune out cell phone talkers in our presence.
Jean’s example is great. I am sure those kids are on to something. It reminded me of something I once read by Robert Henri, the early 20C American artist and teacher. He said to students that they should wander through galleries a lot, and when they find a picture to which they want to come back, time and again, they should obey that inclination for as long as it lasts. His intuition was that poor art will pale over time and lose its appeal, but great art will continue to feed you. This exercise was also key to developing “taste” in his opinion. That much maligned word. Yet how does one acquire taste without cultivating one’s own best responses? Without developing taste, one is left with is James Englert’s sad and scrupulous inner dialogue (well described) that leaves the viewer unsure of the validilty of the enterprise itself.
Some decades ago, when he was still writing for the “International Herald Tribune,” Art Buchwald wrote a column about the four-minute Louvre–a contest to see who could see the Winged Victory, the Venus de Milo, and the Mona Lisa in the shortest time. Someone broke the four-minute barrier, but was disqualified because his profound remark at the Venus de Milo was: “I know the guy who posed for it.”
A later version has turned this into the six-minute Louvre. You can find excerpts from the piece at http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/01/18/AR2007011801620.html
I think to many of us who are “artistically challenged,” famous paintings are kind of like celebrities. It is exciting to see them in person, even if we don’t particularly like or appreciate them. I generally — but not always — need a lot of help encountering paintings or sculpture. My partner is successful in dragging me to a museum occasionally, and it’s clear that he sees things that I don’t see. I need someone like Simon Schama explaining it all to me. There have been rare exceptions. Many years ago in what was then the IBM Building, IBM had an art gallery, and I went when Renoir’s The Luncheon of the Boating Party was on display. I can’t even begin to describe the experience. It seemed somehow impossible or magical. Sometimes I react similarly to Cezanne and Van Gogh. But I think I understand the people who take pictures and move along. It’s rude, and I would never do it, though.
People probably don’t know exactly what to do at a museum because I’m not sure museums themselves know what they are. They’re a combination of art gallery plus archaeological exhibits.
I can understand a museum of antiquities, and I can understand an art gallery displaying an artist’s work… but I’m not sure the two go together that well considering that the works have all different purposes, especially the antiquities. It’s not much of a criticism, I know.
Sometimes, when walking around a huge museum I think that the whole place is bizarre and obnoxious – “Ah yes, the samurai armor. No proper museum is complete without at least half a dozen sets.”
My best museum experiences have been at special exhibits where the work of one artist or artistic trend. An exhibit I remember well was at one of Harvard’s museums. It was on Orientalism in art. Fascinating and made me realize things like, ‘oh, that’s why the Shriners wear fezes and that’s why we have Camel cigarettes.” etc, etc.
Bender’s third suggestion rings true to me. Intellectual and artistic pursuits are isolating, at least in the short term, and pursuing them with intensity is a bit rude to one’s companions unless there’s a spoken or unspoken agreement to be a-social for a while.
The social life, unless there’s a clear understanding to the contrary, discourages looking.
Photos, otoh, are part of the social life.
So how about those Mets?
As Rita notes above, Walker Percy addressed precisely this issue. It can be found in his essay “The Loss of the Creature,” which is in his collection entitled The Message in a Bottle. It is well worth the read.
I read some of the hundreds of comments on the NYT article and #7 is interesting:
If anything, the fact that any well-known artwork or other famous sight can be instantly viewed on-line in high quality at one’s leisure should be all the more reason to dawdle in front of the real thing, taking in all the details, from different angles, while moving, in a way that’s possible only by being physically there. Yet I doubt most people see it that way.
http://community.nytimes.com/comments/www.nytimes.com/2009/08/03/arts/design/03abroad.html
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BTW museum visiting is a modern phenomenon, and the ideal of the visitor quietly contemplating a painting or sculpture is more or less a modern construct. Same with watching operas: over the centuries the audience changed from rowdiness to sitting in silence (except for occasional applause after an aria or some such). Much had to do with the construction of modern opera houses, where certain behavior is to be expected. Same with art museums. The Louvre used to be a fortress, then a royal residence and a semi-gallery. Only after the French Revolution that it became a museum as we know it. The modern ideal of museum going changed over time to reflect larger changes, and now we are well into post-modernism it is obviously changing again, aided in part by digital cameras, cell phones with cameras, mini-laptops, etc. that visitors tag along during their outings.
Note on the side… Speaking of the NYT, would someone post about the red/blue, Texas/California contrast in Ross Douthat’s article today? I thought it’d be fine fodder for a summery political discussion. :)
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/03/opinion/03douthat.html
Why are museums such a waste of time for so many people? I think there are a number of reasons.
First, some of the stuff in some museums is trash. Andy Warhol once had an exhibit which he entitled “Trash”. He had an exhibit in the New Orlreans Museum of Art and when asked by a local TV reporter why he set out to produce trash, and Warhol replied, quite cynically, “If the people want trash, we’ll give them trash”. Some collectors simply want what is new, whether it’s good or bad.
Second,, I think that a lot of visual art is trying to do the work of the literary arts — to make grand statements obout the state of the world, the human condition, etc., etc., themes that do not lend themselves easily to the plastic arts, at least not to painting and drawing. Maybe they did in the olden days, before movies, but no more.
Third, I think it’s because we literally *cannot see what is there*. The psychologists have establisehd very clearly that we automatically leave out visual data coming through our eyes, we distort what does make it through our automatic mental filters, plus we actually add data from our memories. This is especially true, I think, in this left-brained culture in which we find it more and more difficult to view things wholistically (a right-brain function). Further, we don’t have very much *time* to contemplating what is there, especially objects that are not interactive. Viewing the visi\ual arts require a passivity we are not inclined to.
And I should probably add that most people think that visual arts need to be “about” something — they need to be “pictures of” something else or at least be useful objects, tools of some sort. They do not realize that the visual arts can be pure visual patterns of great worth, just as music is often pure sound pattern of great worth.
If you want to improve your ability to grasp what is there, let me recommend Betty Edwards’ classic “Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain”. In it she gives drawing exercises which actually shut down the functioning of the brain’s left side, the side that is logical, verbal, linear and which helps shut out and distort data that is actually coming in through our eyes. Shutting down the left side lets the right side become conscious of more of the data coming in. For instance, one exercise is to copy a line drawing by Picasso– but with the drawing placed up-side-down. This removes expectations, and you’re taught not to label the parts of what you’re looking at (language is a left=brain activitiy). In other words, you go into an alternative state of consciousness, though a very natural one. Ecwards gies some amazing examples of the progress her students make in a matter of days.
She is very careful to tell us that she is not teaching Art with a capital A, but is only teaching us to draw what we really, truly see. Once we can see better, we’re better able to see what is there, and that includes what we see in museums in the works of the master Artists. And, as someone mentioned above, we learn that some artists are worth a lot more attention than other ones.
My point is if you want to appreciate Art, learn to see. (This a constant refrain from art teachers!0 If you do you’ll never be satisfied with pictures of great pictures. Photos always miss a LOT of what is there. They’re good reminders, but that’s about it. (I have yet to see a reproduction of any sort of any Rembrandt painting that comes anywhere NEAR doing it any justice at all. His drawings sometimes, his paintings no.)
(Cathy — if you’ve read this, *do* get yourself a copy of the Edwards book.. It might help with your boring recuperation. And, if you don’t already draw, you might learn how.)
Sorry to go on at such great lengths. I’m an old aesthetics teacher.
One last comment on this thread… One thing not yet mentioned is the role of money in art museums in postwar Europe and North America. Bigger the museum, greater fundraising and more frequent special exhibitions to draw audience tickets. The more hyped an exhibition, the larger the crowd and the more congested the environ.
Tourism plays a big role. During my one visit to the Kunsthistorisches in Vienna, I couldn’t help noticing the large presence of tourists from Japan and South Korea, lots of whom fit the stereotype of the camera-snapping, 10-seconds-each-painting visitor. Visiting the museum was clearly a part of the packed “cultural package” heavily promoted by tour organizers. (Wednesday: Breakfast at hotel, Kunsthistorisches, train tour, lunch, etc.)
Such is the development of museum going created in part by postwar prosperity. Which is why the Barnes Collection in Philly is a rare place to see paintings. (Well, it’s been having financial problems lately and may go the way of Louvre and others.)
From the wikipedia entry of the Collection:
In order to preserve the institution’s identity, Barnes set out detailed terms of its operation in an indenture of trust to be honored in perpetuity after his death. These included limiting public admission to two days a week so the school could use the art collection for student study, and prohibitions against lending works in the collection, touring the collection, and presenting touring exhibitions. Matisse is said to have hailed the school as the only sane place in America to view art.
It was not until 1961 that the collection was regularly open two days a week, and all visitors still had to make reservations for entry…
Ann: Have you read Ernst Gombrich? Some people regard him as one of the great theorists of art in the twentieth century. His “Art and Illusion” and “Story of Art” are among the very many books I want to read in my retirement.
One of the funniest books about art I ever read was Tom Wolfe’s The Painted Word. If you are an admirer of modern art, you must read it.
JAK ==
I read one of Gombrich’s books many years ago – I think it was Art and Illusion. Fine schola. My problem with books on aesthetics is that it’s a relatively new field and not too many giant philosophers have given it much attention. There are really not many theories o “art” or “Art” or “fine art” or “what people make”. The field has not even been adequately defined (irf it can be defined — dealing as it does with something like a transcendental).
I just think there’s so much junk these days that’s called “art” simply because it’s “original”. Humph. For that reason I really, really like Robert Hughes’ “The Shock of the New”. I see Amazon lists a new edition that brings it up to the 90[s. Very, very fine criti, though not a theorist. There’s also Clive Bell’s little “Art” that was a bombshell back in the 1930′s (?) when it was written. His work and Roger Fry’s mae modern art understandable, so they were really quite revolutioaary. I don’t know how wise they were. Maritain’s little “Art and Scholasticism” is goo as far as it goes, but his “creative Ituition in Art and Poetry” is really wild in many ways. However, someof it is quite interesting. He knew mamy of the great 10th century writers and artists very well, and he’s quite sympathetic to them Anyway, there’s a lot out there that is interesting, even if a good bit of it is nonsense..
)Sorry I can’t proof-read this — eye trouble.)