I visit museums and art galleries whenever possible. I am fed, body, soul and mind, by these adventures. I am particularly drawn to figurative painting, especially the work of Francis Bacon, the Scottish painter Peter Doig, the Americans Richard Diebenkorn and George Tooker, and the Spanish sculptor Juan Muñoz. Their work burns my soul and arrests my attention with a taste of eternity.
Lately I am bothered by a trend running rampant in the museums: visitors snapping photos of the art on their cell phones. The phone seems to act as a medium between the observer and the observed, cutting off direct experience. Perhaps the phenomenon of cell phone photos speaks to a certain lackadaisical attitude towards both making and “consuming” art. And so I have decided to give thought and words to what troubles me.
Is it possible that what disturbs me about the phenomenon of cell phone photos in museums is related inextricably to consumer attitudes we find in our theaters on both sides of the footlights? In the theater, high box offices prices contribute to the sense of ownership and entitlement on the part of the audience and the subservience assumed by the artists. The audience buys a product. If the product does not meet their approval and/or expectations, these consumers feel righteous in leaving with alacrity and noise. After all, they have bought this right and attitude towards the product. And we artists feel that we are serving up merchandise rather than sharing a process.
What disturbs me on both counts, in theaters and in museums, are the consumer attitudes adapted in relation to the art experience. In the theater, the attitude of righteous ownership deprives the audience of the potential for immediate encounter with the unfamiliar. In the museum, the act of taking cell phone photographs distances the viewer from any dangerous direct communion with a work of art. Perhaps the impulse to take these photos is an attempt by the viewers not only to distance themselves from the potential danger and violence of the present moment but also it allows them to store the experience for a safer moment in an uncertain future.
The playwright Alan Bennett wrote in his diary after seeing a Vermeer exhibit in Delft: “I have a sense of vertigo, though, in the presence of great paintings, as when standing on a cliff and feeling oneself pulled to the edge.”
I do not imagine that Alan Bennett arrived at the exhibit equipped with a cell phone camera. Why take a cell phone photo of a work of art except to make the object smaller, more controllable and less threatening? The action of taking a photo of an artwork stimulates the feeling that you are the owner and master and that it will keep you from being pulled to the edge or knocked off balance.
Daniel Barenboim in his beautiful new book entitled Music Quickens Time suggests that hearing ubiquitous music in bookstores, shopping malls and at the dentist, replaces the participation of the intellect in listening to music with passive consumption. What’s missing is the potential for transformation that actively listening to music proposes. Barenboim describes the act of listening as “hearing with thought.” He takes the notion further. Feeling is memory with thought. Memory comes easily, immediately and directly to us, whereas recollection can only come through reflection and individual effort.
After the recent election we find ourselves at a pivotal historical moment. We are about to undergo regime change and our new leadership is actually re-examining the values and foundations established at the founding of the country. Add to this significant political change the stock market crash, the rampant unemployment and the dissolution in our belief in endless credit and the myth of unchecked prosperity, we are suddenly provided with a fantastic opportunity to re-evaluate all of our assumptions about who we are and how we function in the world. Now is the moment to consider anew the role of art in our society and in our lives and to question how we function in the art arena.
In this climate, the arts will most likely suffer with less available funding. Expensive tickets may put people off. Perhaps we will be forced to examine exactly what it is we are putting on the stage and why. We can ask anew how to convey a text with economy of means but richness of physicality, attitude and direction.
Perhaps a place to begin is to take a look at the way we enter the arena of a rehearsal and how we proceed. Can we allow the play and the others in the room, including the audience, to be dangerous and unknown in a way that will render us both more courageous and more respectful?
The great late actress and teacher Stella Adler insisted that her acting students arrive in class properly attired, coats and ties for men and dresses for women. No jeans, no shorts. She insisted that they approach the arena of acting with respect and civility. According to actor Jason Grant who studied with her, Adler herself “made her entrance wearing a blue knit dress, high heels, a mink coat draped over her shoulders. She sat down, the coat fell away onto the chair, and then class began.”
Comments
Aaron says:
I agree, these are particular times, marked by shifts and collapses in dominate systems and thoughts across all areas: politics, economic, enthetic and art. If we the people can, in deed and intent, stay alive and ready in this energied space between certainties and comfort zones; if we the artists, can find the muscles, patience, breath to be a mouth/ear-piece in, to and of this new atmosphere with all its challenges, conflicts and aesthetic questions: then we may find a space to re-member a very new and vital process and place for our energies and art. Histories show that this action in similar times has been answered in a very confronting and shocking art indeed. I hope it will have the scope and magnetism to promote and empower brave, direct and personal interactions and discoveries.
December 1, 2008 at 9:07 PM | Permalink
Jeremy says:
And that's why I'm committed to Suggested Donations!
Another important and timely slice of wisdom, Ms. B.
Thanks, as always, for the articulation.
December 1, 2008 at 10:57 PM | Permalink
Lindsay says:
'Artists feel that we are serving up merchandise rather than sharing a process.' - This is a vivid and slightly scary thought. Perhaps that's why I'm not in a state of panic over theatre after theatre closing, or the number of lights dimming on Broadway. Perhaps now we can re-focus on process and why it's such a vital part of the theatrical experience. I'm sure we have some interesting times ahead...
December 2, 2008 at 2:31 PM | Permalink
Antti says:
What you say, Anne, is very true. Lately I've been puzzled with the fact that this phenomenon of experiencing through a lense does not happen only in the museums etc., but also in real life. Recently I was working in Amsterdam and met a person who had been in Japan for five days. During that short time he shot 800 photos. And I know he is not the only one living that way. What often happens to mysel is that I forget to take photos, as I feel the things happening for real so compelling, but it seems that some people like to distance themselves from the happenings by taking photos, and as you say, maybe finding a safer place for watching in the future. I also heard a story of a boy who got injured in the recent aeroplane crash in Spain. As the firemen were carrying the boy to an ambulance the boy was constantly asking them "when is this movie going to end?" The boy had lost his father in the crash.
December 4, 2008 at 4:07 AM | Permalink
simon says:
Thank you Anne for articulating this phenomenon. While recently in N.Y., I had the opportunity to visit the Museum of Modern Art. I was struck that in MoMa, on the fourth floor - painting and sculpture between the 1940's to the 1970's, there were so many people just taking pictures of the work and talking loudly, much to my annoyance, whilst on the floor above - painting and sculpture between 1880's to 1940's, the relationship with the work was considerably different, people actually took the time to take in the work, weren't taking pictures, relative silence. Why the difference? Much of the work in my opinion from the 40's to the 70's left little room for awe and much room for indifference. e.g. Andy Warhol's Campbell's Soup Cans, 1962. Whereas Rothko on the same level intrigues because you sense there's something else going on behind the painting. So my question is maybe alot of modern/contemporary art entices consomer behaviour by its lack of depth, only surfacing or presenting ideas coldly and formally?
December 4, 2008 at 5:48 AM | Permalink
eugenia says:
Dearest Anne, it is so lovely to "hear" you share your thoughts again! Yet, I shall have to disagree somehow.. I find nothing wrong with picture taking in museums. To me, it is simply a way to perceive, sculpted by our experience of modern media. Our everyday interaction with computer, phone or tv screens has affected the way we relate to images (the 2D world) - what could be more natural than that? Taking a picture of a painting is, as you say, a gesture of ownership. Indeed. Yet, it is a respectful ownership. Taking a picture of a painting enables me to take it home with me, to look at it again, to hold a piece of it tight, just like years ago people would tear pieces off what they liked. Ancient travellers would tear pieces off mountains or temples, take them with them, hold them tight as parts of what they have experienced. Taking a picture is no different - just better, as it actually leaves the work itself intact! Plus, taking a picture allows us to later share in some way. "I saw this today...look!"
December 5, 2008 at 1:45 PM | Permalink
Robbie says:
I think the greatest danger in the photo taking way of life is of loosing the present moment. I am about to reach home after 2 months in NY (being completely overwhelmed by the galleries... I hope you people realise how lucky you are :) and in Latin America (where I was overwhelmed by everything). While hiking in the Peruvian Andes I finaly came to grips with 'the real' and 'the simulcrum'... staring at some of the most stunning scenery I have ever been immersed in and I had to conciously drive away the feeling that the photos I've seen were somehow grander or better composed. But even more insidious than that is the wanting to have a photo so that you can say 'I was there' rather than 'I am here.' There's nothing wrong with wanting to hold on to powerful moments to sustain you in future crisis... but it so often comes at the price of missing the original experience altogether.
December 17, 2008 at 5:05 AM | Permalink