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December 17, 2006

The case for taste

Paul Graham, the massively talented essayist, has published a piece that further explains the ideas in his "Taste for Makers" article. The new piece is called "How Art Can Be Good" and it is, of course, excellent.

I'm proud to say that he was stimulated to do this in small part by my interview of him (video) at the Berkman Center. I'd like to think I annoyed him just enough to push him over the edge to write the new essay :)

A couple of days after our conversation, I wrote up a response to "Taste for Makers." But it slipped between my cracks--I have become all cracks, no flooring--so I never posted it. I'm posting it here, even though it's now obviated by Paul's new essay, "How Art Can Be Good." But I did the work, and I want to get it "on the record" so to speak. I'll come back to "How Art Can Be Good" soon...


Paul Graham was motivated to write his essay, Taste for Makers by his father saying that something was just a matter of taste, as if there were nothing more to be said on the topic. Taste is not subjective, Paul argues. In his essay, he gives a dozen principles for designing beautiful things, principles that he urges are eternal and even—in my interview with him last week (video here)—trans-planetary: The proverbial space alien would respond to at least some of these principles. (Question I should have asked him: A space alien might, but do dogs? Dolphins?)

I agree that taste is not merely subjective, and Paul's principles taken together and apart seem like helpful advice. (I am not a "maker" in Paul's sense so I don't have standing on such questions.) The case for taste needs to be made now more than ever, and Paul makes it with his usual casual elegance (which, we learned in the session I had with him last week, was the effort of non-casual labor). But I disagree with how he makes the case and the picture of art that flows from it.

The case for taste needs to be made because the alternative is ignorance, arrogance, and despair. "I don't like Bach," uttered by someone who has only heard one piece, forced on her by her seventh grade music teacher, betrays a type of aesthetic fundamentalism that thinks works can be experienced directly. You just sit down and listen. If you don't like it, that's the end of the story. In fact, the seventh grader doesn't know how to listen to Bach. Further, as Paul points out, if left unchallenged, she's implicitly told that she is a competent judge and that therefore beauty goes no further than the surfaces she experiences. Ignorance, arrogance, despair.

But, the way past this does not require affirming principles that, because they are eternal (or at least long-lasting) and trans-species, have the properties we expect of the objective.

Paul defines taste as the ability to recognize beauty. It is not "merely a matter of personal preference." To be clear, I think we ought to differentiate taste from mere taste. Of those two, mere taste is far less problematic: Something is merely a matter of taste if it is simply a personal preference. I like chocolate ice cream and hate mint. You hate chocolate and like mint. If there's nothing else to be said, it's merely a matter of taste.

Taste is harder to understand, in part because in recent years it's taken on an elitist cast, so there are cultural politics involved in its use. Think about when and on what occasions you might say, "She's a woman of taste," or "She's got good taste." Frequently, that's a way of saying that a person likes expensive things. If talking about curators of major museums, the term "taste" may actually mean "mere taste": If I say I like the taste of the curator of the MOMA, I'm probably not acusing the curator of the Met of being unable to recognize beauty; I'm probably saying that I happen, subjectively, to prefer the choices hanging at the MOMA.

So, "taste" is a tough word. Paul's definition—the ability to recognize beauty—has the advantage of acknowledging that beauty is not a matter of mere subjective preference. But Paul's definition may imply too simple a relationship between beauty and experience. Beauty and our recognition of it is conditioned by elements that Paul ascribes to mere fashion. (Fashion is, in Paul's understanding, a trend in what I'm calling mere taste. Mullets are a matter of fashion.)

The problem with tying the non-subjectivity of taste to beauty is that beauty does not consist of a set of properties that can be specified, agreed upon and applied. Paul's design principles say that beauty is simple, eternal, symmetrical, resembles nature, is hard but looks easy, is often slightly funny, is often strange, is often daring, etc. Of course Paul isn't saying that these are either necessary or sufficient. But, any design principles cannot do more than capture the current taste in beauty. For example, I think Paul's "Good design is simple" resolves into the tautology that "Bits that are extraneous are extraneous." But which ones are extraneous? Even as an exhortation to prefer fewer bits to more bits (or, as Paul brilliantly explained it in our discussion, to prefer designs that compress better), it fails to capture periods in which, say, paintings tried to express the excessiveness of G-d's gift or plays that revelled in language that no real character would ever have uttered.

Design principles can only capture current taste because beauty is not (despite Paul's second principle) eternal. Sure, we can go back and point to paintings from hundreds of years ago that are still beautiful, and find the design principles that differentiate them from the ones that "fail the test of time." But taste is built into this proof: Paul points to a Bronzino as a painting that still works and a van Eyck as one that does not (among examples I chose), explaining that the van Eyck is needlessly complex while the Bronzino has a simplicity beneath its surface. But, this can't be evidence that simplicity is an eternal property of beauty because the selection of which old paintings are still beautiful is itself at issue. It'd be like me proving that sourness is an eternal property of beauty in the culinary arts by including pickles and lemon meringue pie and excluding leek soup and quiche from the list of beautiful cooked works.

It'd be different if there were agreement across ages and cultures about what goes on the list of The Beautiful. But taste—genuine taste—has fashions. The length of the fashion wave seems to lengthen at about the hundred year mark, lending credence to Paul's view, but there are waves of taste nevertheless. Shakespeare's histories and tragedies have come into and out of fashion, and not just among the play-going public. Vermeer seems more prominent than fifty years ago. We find more beauty in Bronzino than van Eyck because that's how our tastes run these days. We like the simple over the florid.

But I most definitely am not saying that it's a matter of mere taste. Paul can tell us why he prefers Bronzino. He can bring us to see what's there. Some of it is a fundamentalist reading of the painting: Notice that the background is extremely simple. Notice that the pattern on the dress would compress well. But some of what he says explains what isn't on the surface of the painting: It was a court portrait, for which there were certain rules. By understanding the historic context, we see the beauty that's there.

This is exactly what the best critics do. Simon Schama's Rembrandt's Eyes, for example, tells us about the historical and political climate in which Rembrandt painted The Night Watch. Someone who sees that painting free of that context and who pronounces it "boring," is not seeing what's there—or, more exactly, isn't seeing what isn't there.

But, that such criticism works is empirical evidence that eternality is not a design principle. Beauty is situated in one's time and place because it is a way of seeing, and seeing is never fundamentalist. This has a few consequences.

First, it means that we can't engage in the project of gathering up the beautiful and seeing what it has in common to find its eternal properties because recognizing beauty is itself a situated act. We don't see The Night Watch the way the Dutch at the time did, just as we can't see western Medieval art the way the people of the time did. Through education and imagination we can get closer or further from that experience, but if you're a 21st century atheist brought up in a surfeit of images, you are miles away from the experience of a 15th century person seeing a picture of Heaven opening up or of St. Sebastian being pierced with arrows. Include those works in the canon, and simplicity will not show up as a virtue, but sanctity will.

Second, Paul thinks that fashion is the residue after the eternal, trans-species properties of beauty are subtracted. But in dropping out what's context-dependent, much of the experience of beauty is lost. In fact, we can't even understand what we're looking at. The more we understand about the particulars of the time, place and person, the closer we get to seeing what's there. Now, I think that Paul would say that a 15th century person viewing Piero del Pollaiulo's painting of St. Sebastian might be distracted by the context-specific elements of the painting, whereas its beauty (if this is a beautiful painting, and I'm really not sure about that, but I do know that a photo of it is available on the Web, which is why I chose it) is what survived its context and is visible to moderns and to space aliens. I don't know how to respond to that except by saying no. For me, a painting is not only an arrangement of color and form. Often, a picture depicts something. Its content is part of its beauty. But its content is dependent on time, culture, belief, language, history...It helps to know that that particular Bronzino painting was a court portrait, that the garden behind Mary in the van Eyck is planted with "lilies and roses symbolizing Mary's virtues," and that the guy pierced with arrows was a saint thought to be capable of interceding during plagues.

And this is why taste is not merely subjective. It's not because beauty is objective, to be seen or missed. Nor does beauty devolve into a set of properties, since the properties themselves require us to make aesthetic judgments: Which bits are extraneous? When does symmetry become formula? Rather, taste is a defensible recognition of beauty. If all you can say is "I don't like Bach because he sucks," your taste is mere taste. As you learn more about what to listen for—what's in the work and what isn't in the work—the better your taste is and the more beauty you'll find.

This leaves some huge questions. Suppose tasteful people disagree? I like Mozart's string quartets more than I like his symphonies, and I like his symphonies more than I like Schumann's Lieder. I may understand all three equally. (I don't, but I get to make up my examples.) I may even be able to point out to others what's beautiful about the Lieder while changing the station when they come on the radio. The difference is a subjective element in taste. To say that taste is subjective in this way, however, doesn't mean that it's nothing but subjective. Taste is a response to an object. Paul is right, imo, to point to that object and to remind us that taste is not merely subjective.

The object, however, is complex because it is a human creation, and thus has meaning within a particular context and situation. The same painting isn't the same throughout time. It's not just that during the 1960s, we rediscovered Hieronymus Bosch's paintings of Hell because they looked so "trippy." Rather, the 15th century painting of St. Sebastian simply cannot look the same in an age of devotion as it does in an age when religion seems at best quaint. It may be beautiful now and then. It may even be beautiful continuously throughout history. But it is not the same painting and it isn't the same beauty. Things don't have beauty the way some nuggets have gold flecks in them and others don't.

But, that doesn't mean that taste merely subjectively picks out what's beautiful, and that motel wall art is as beautiful as a Rembrandt. Rather, taste enables us to see the beauty that's there, ideally in ways we can articulate and discuss. It may not be convincing the way a test for gold flecks is, but it is defensible. What we need to learn to see frequently is precisely the particulars that time has obscured. Taste, as the discussion of the beauty that's there, thus is always unearthing more beauty.

Taste doesn't just respond to beauty. It makes beauty.

[Tags: art aesthetics beauty paul_graham philosophy]

Posted by D. Weinberger at December 17, 2006 10:40 AM


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SENSUALITY AND CONTEMPLATION IN ITALIAN RENAISSANCE ART
By Philo Philotes
The desire that guides Rinascimento painting becomes manifest in many guises, which converge to give great liberty of expression to the painter. Before this time, art was directed either by religious sentiment, economic interest, or both, with little regard for the beautiful in itself, free on its own behalf, to excite the onlooker. Where did this spirit suddenly come from? Surely, the advance in material and technique must be measured in corresponding to the new visions, but these aspects alone do not fully explain the degree to which the artist finally leaves behind the old forms of conception.

A profusion of literature lies to hand on the subject of the art of the Rinascimento, including texts by the self-same painters. Yet, who can define the difference in the nature of the new art in terms that elucidate the idealistic revolution actually occurring? Who comes first? Where should one begin?

Certain features rise from the generally colorful current to call our attention to the particulars of detail. These features become distinguished in the dialectic of their contraposition, then return in time to their symbiotic relationship, at least in appearance. In reality, any such separation of ideas is purely intellectual, contributed by the aesthete. These features, which ripple the imagination, are unique to the Rinascimento.

Sensuality and Contemplation

Rinascimento painting is pierced by the glance of these two faces . Initially overcoming all common sense, we are led to see, as if for the first time, a far deeper meaning than the ordinary. Common sense, however, in the end prevails, and we may again breathe freely, but never with the same mental naiveté. How has an image, so meant for the senses, penetrated the intellect with such impelling voracity and perpetual vivacity? Why did such compelling sensuous imagery make its way into the context of our painting at all? Although these questions are significant to us here, the question itself becomes a philosophical one, which is to say that the asking constitutes the object in seeking it. The overriding question is: how do these elements, being themselves purely mental--insofar as they are image (they are not mere color)--lead us to understand the very contrast of sensuality and contemplation. The sensuous, in itself, is erotica without purpose. The contemplative, in itself, is self-absorption in formless subjectivity. The interplay of these factors still does not constitute the whole subject under review.

We begin at the sensuous level, not in the aesthetic (empirical) power of the picture alone, but in the imagery of the sensuous (the emotive). In the art of this period, this aspect finds its highest expression, but does so vis-à-vis the intellectual qualities, amongst them, as necessary parts of the piece. They acquire a dignity in and as the intellectual aspect reaches its fulfillment. The intellectual aspect, in turn, approaches nearer its intent as the sensuous provides a forceful, though rational, contrast against which, if not pleasure, beauty for us is possible in its fullness. This fullness is the basis for our judgment on the painting--a judgment which is so critical to the appeal of Renaissance art.

Thinkers, even from ancient times, appreciated art to be a form of reason, opposed to mere chance or fancy. This Reason (logos, techne) means a harmony of elements through tension; a balanced synthesis brought about by an attunement of characteristics. Reason, therefore, is said to pervade the outcome. This Reason, however, also requires a necessary correspondence of special features; features meant for each other in their opposition, like wrestlers who need one another to demonstrate their strength; special, because belonging, as if by perfect and deliberate design, to the piece. This tension is most evident when our mind inclines to the beautiful, even amidst the horror of certain scenes portrayed.

The same concert of desire shows up in ballet, for instance, where the fine sensuality of the physical is subsumed in the intellectual through grace, and intellectual pleasure is heightened insofar as the dancers are beautiful. This description of the aesthetic experience pertains throughout the polite arts, and is the essence of why they are so classed.

Take Bernini's Angels , for instance. They delightfully shine upon us--neither male nor female--perfect in form, nevertheless, spontaneously, they arouse our passions, through their formal physical semblance, through the radiance of their being, beyond our capacity to comprehend, once and for all, their message . We are at a loss to fix our judgment, though it is really but lifeless stone that outdoes us now. We are not lost, nor thoughtless, in their presence--quite the contrary . We are simply transfixed with them, in their state for the moment. We would like to be with them in their sublimity, though we are conscious that we cannot--for now . Humanity calls us back again to our chores. In ethical life, too, loose desire becomes incontinence, self-indulgence, vainglory, etc., whereas the tension of reason makes us essentially more human. This is the principle that is working behind the Rinascimento .
The first tendency of the changing art is the approach to relief. Rinascimento painters near more the sculptor and the architect than ever before. Their purposes merge, while only the fabric varies. Decorum and detail are developed as features equally significant to the picture as the main figures themselves. To be a Renaissance man is to comprehend, surely the sciences of the times, but all the arts based on design as an organic creature. Hence, the study of anatomy and posture find an appropriate place alongside the geometry of building design; the study of the real effect of light beside theology. As form, limit, and number, become paramount cares for these artists, the thing they express takes on a life of its own. As the thing lives, so do the elements of its structure. In living, that is in being composed from studies, however lofty in their constitution of subject-matter, of existence, this existence appears as sensuous; and all the more insofar as the breath of life is found therein.

Naturally, in the course of experiment with technique and design, as the imagination becomes the vehicle of Reason, unexpected features emerge. Such features lead to careful examination of the underlying intentions of the masters. The 1563 council of Trent declaration is one of a myriad of examples. Finding value in such art as "the bible of the illiterate," it moved, all the while, to curb the excessive curiosity of the painter, as the Protestants had no room for any such thing whatsoever, all to no avail in the end. Art continued to rise above the mundane, without violating it. Sensuality grew up in the artist's eyes along with knowledge. They seemed to reach a truce, to embrace one another, to strive for a common aim--to delight the sensibility of the ideal judge. We can see how the artist is outside looking into a more perfect world: A world, nevertheless, of the mind. The content of the images, certainly, is neither unique nor new. The beautiful may, however, be said to be new, to us at least. This is the primary emphasis of Renaissance art; this is what it contributes to our history. Not that true beauty was heretofore unknown. Ancient art and philosophy already contain the entirety of our current reference standards. Rather, beauty is growing up, as we ourselves develop, from youth to maturity, within the very discord we call our world. The artist's task, as always, is to find beauty in the chaos, the flux, of enduring.

Confusion and Tranquility

This brings us face to face with another particular feature of Rinascimento painting--the contrast of fury and peace. The figures move in perfect harmony with natural succession, as the studies of human form find their completion in production, in either state or shade betwixt. Even in fantastic motion, like the flight of angels or saints , this same harmony of natural motion prevails. Leonardo gives wings to angels through the study of aviaries, as in his Annunciation .

Fury and peace, sublunary and celestial qualities respectively, excite the imagination of these times. The former through experience, the latter through expectation; as if an instant picture of a Socratic lesson. However rudimentary the theme, new things happen, not only with successive works, but even in the self-same works, as we look on. This is because the contrast is brought to such a state of advance that our minds are engaged at once in the corresponding dialectic. Dialectic is mental language, as speech, its product, is physical language itself (logos), the motivating unifier, which the artist is actually representing in the image. Movement--the world of becoming--is never captured in a picture that succeeds. Rather, a good work moves us along with it, within its power and possibility, to our astonishment. This is why we can remain for hours with a Raffaello and not know time is going on around us. Time, rather than being a "moving image of eternity," is actually an eternal image of change.

Take for example, young Bacco by Merisi . Forever we are with him already. He offers us a salute, which we accept depending upon our worthiness. He is perfect. The wine is undulating in articulate circles. The fruit is ripe--it is ready. His attire is casual, but do not be deceived. His visit is not at all ordinary. There is more wine, yet the single glass is itself an abundance. For now the chaos subsides, or at least hides away. But we know his presence is its presage.

Portrait painting attains perfection at this time as well with Raffaello . This mode of painting, primarily executed to earn the artist's way, does not usually give to us the same sense of the painter's general talent, as do the grander, and more spirited masterpieces. We know, however, with Raffaello, that he gave his subjects a life heretofore unachieved. The detail is breathtaking. We perceive no shortcuts that would have compromised the quality of the time spent working. The shades of folded cloth, the tones of nature, the closely measured proportion, coalesce to unveil a display of the finest art in Raffaello. Take Agnolo Doni. The left sleeve is tucked with great care under the outer vest. Can you feel the cloth? Or Fedra Inghirami , who's crafted book tells the distance between us. The Lady With A Veil is delightfully dressed in fabrics that lend ever more beauty to her Mona Lisa expression. And, though I've yet to see Baldassar Castiglione in person, I can pretend to imagine the luxurious coat and wild beard, as they would appear in France.

Beauty is as much related to sensuality as to the transcendental idea. Following Kant, Hegel, or Croce, we know that one is unthinkable without the other, insofar as the concept is blind without content, an indeterminate immediate, inert and impractical as a thought.

Although this discussion is itself abstract to the point of a universal phenomenological description of the facts, the facts are the matter, which we may now elucidate upon more fully, to exhibit the basis of our discourse, in the particular instances. Not that the attempt to actually exhibit
particulars is, in itself, free from flaw as a method, but, rather, it may serve us as a possible means to bringing forth the issue under investigation in a new manner for the sake of achieving critical clarity.

Look at the greatest accomplishment of the period--The School Of Athens . A regular day is in progress. The personalities are interacting in an environment totally dominated by enthusiastic learning. Everyone present is involved in the matter at hand. Demonstration and understanding, discussion and concentration, are happening with forceful measure. This creates the surrounding sense of inspired wonder, which is alive enough to take us, the passive onlooker, into the balanced action of the representation. One figure alone seems detached , disinterested, in the give and take of the current events. She is different, apart from the occurring circumstances, while being in their very midst. She is beautiful, graceful, without excess, and, therefore, she is also passionately sensuous. She wins our hearts over before we think to consider her contribution to the day. The group to the far right , enjoying astronomical contemplation, is acutely aware of her approach. Behind her, the boy mirrors her preoccupation.

Still beauty, angelic beauty, while sensuous, is not corrupt sensuality, for example, as one may see in the cartoon-like image above the boy's head. Tumultuous agitation comes into direct contrast with the dignified charm of the woman in white. The contrast is even more pronounced against the foreground argument. Enough cannot be said in regard to the arrangement of figures (allegedly dictated by the Vatican, and not by Raffaello), so elegantly executed in the exemplar of Rinascimento style. The Heraclitus Michealangelo figure, set in retrospect, serves only as a crescendo to other, absent possibilities.

The philosophers finally enter , epitomizing the contemplative ideal, armed with ethics and cosmology, to fit in, not invade the overall pattern of enlightened intercourse. They match the woman with profound harmony. She, like wisdom, is attractive. They, with knowledge, seek wisdom. Her sensuality is essential to balancing the idea. Others are as lovely, but only she commands the proper tension of elements. The figure of Alexander, his hand on his weapon, is a figure in conflict, anticipating the edification to come. These are sensuous characters. This is a contemplative, ethereal atmosphere. The blend is achieved because of the new horizon of the Renaissance. Christopher Columbus and Amerigo Vespucci have just reported in. Machiavelli is trying to think through the pressing problems of political unity. Galileo and Bruno will soon expand the context of scientific thought and exploration. The earth has finally, with tremendous effort, been set in motion. What times are these!

In the very room next door, St. Peter's liberation occurs with an Angel of magnificent beauty by his side. The image, again, is meant to attract us sensually, as he is affected sensually. "She" wakes him from a sound sleep with a physical touch . Although the Angel is not necessarily female, we project "it" as such. The artist gives the Angel feminine attributes . We know Simon Peter to be a man; thus, there is a heightened liveliness to his awakening. Prior to this period, Angels lacked real qualities. They appeared more symbolic than immanent. Lorenzo Di Credi, in the Annunciation allows the Angel great charm. In this, he becomes the teacher of Santi, for his Angel is quite lovely in form, exemplifying the flowing grace that is to become Raffaello's trademark.

Justice

A perduring and persistent component of the contemplative theme is that of justice. Justice is the social virtue; the correspondence of true reason with right desire in relation to others with whom we are bound to share the world in common. Justice is the very harmony of all things, as in speech, where sound and meaning converge . This harmony, or convergence, is not possible outside of a just relation between sound and sense. Even when the speaker speaks falsely or unfairly, this just relation persists underneath his intentions. Without such a relation, nonsense, total lack of significance of any kind, would follow.

Justice presents itself to the aesthetic intuition as a balance of ground; as the rational end of light and shade. These elemental aspects of appearance are worked to exact standard in the Rinascimento period. It is as if justice is kindled like a candle in the pre-dawn shadow. It anticipates the accented sky of sunrise.

Posted by: Philo | December 18, 2006 08:16 AM


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