The Renaissance Cardinal Nicholas of Cusanus famously coined the phrase “learned ignorance,” which pertains to the idea that one is wiser by knowing that one does not know than by thinking that one does know.
I feel a lot like the Cardinal lately in my aesthetic studies, in that I know I don’t know all of aesthetics or how to put it all together coherently yet. But I, at least, do know that any single view or system of aesthetics that emphasizes one aspect like form over content completely must — at least in part — be in error.
For the record I myself lean more toward formalism probably than any other interpretation of art.
So what’s the problem with formalism then? Formalism states that the form of the artwork — its lines, colors, textures and even the matter of the artwork — is what makes art art, what makes art significant and great.
Content and context — in other words its subject matter, what the art is about, is not very important at all to formalism. In other words, if you look at an artwork you can almost instantly tell if it is good or not. You should not have to study about the historical period to understand, or more clearly enjoy, and appreciate the work. Formalism therefore often strongly dislikes both narrative art and art as propaganda.
There is no doubt some truth in this interesting view! But must something be totally true because it’s partially true or even largely true? To even be able to talk about the content of a work of art, the content must exist at least, doesn’t it? How can something that is an integral part of something not count at all in its interpretation?
Let’s put some art examples into play! I say to a formalist artist: What about Picasso’s 1937 “Guernica,” possibly his greatest work, which deals with the horrors of war? Are we to say that the horrors of war are not an integral part of the greatness of this superb work? The formalist will answer very, reasonably that “It is not the horrors of war that make “Guernica” great, for there are many bad antiwar paintings, it is its great form. And I also like many of his other paintings just as much.” The formalist is usually right in his answers, and it is quite difficult to argue against him. A second and final example. I say to the formalist: “What about Gruenwald’s famous 1515 Crucifixion at Isenheim? Don’t tell me that the crucifixion doesn’t matter?!”, my latent Christian loyalty raising my voice in hesitant sarcasm. Well, we already know what she’s going to say: “The work no doubt is great, though not one of my favorites, as crucifixions are not my thing. But there are again many bad crucifixions. Every fledgling artist has to try his or her hand at one!” I guiltily agreed. The formalist seems to be crushing any other view in advance.
My response to this is that it leads to a paradox of sorts. Cultural anthropologists have long pointed out that ancient art tells us much — sometimes all we know — about a culture. This is especially true of architecture. Would a formalist say that though this is true that it just doesn’t matter? Or matter for art interpretation?
Yes, trying to tell a story can be badly done, and most propaganda art is usually bad. Yet the whole Middle Ages, and much of the Renaissance, told the story of the birth, life, teaching, suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Now, can this be unimportant content even if all the work was not of equal artistic value? Is it really true that studying the history of this art won’t help one better understand it, even as to what is better as art?
Art from different cultures can have some great aesthetic crossovers of significant form. But even the great Goethe went from despising the gothic cathedrals to positively raving about then, after he took a second look and studied up on it somewhat. This seems to be pretty strong proof against a purely formalist interpretation of art.
And now a quick response to my two examples: Picasso was not a storyteller or propagandist. Isn’t there a difference between trying to add art to some history as a job almost and becoming one with it and truly expressing yourself and your feelings and thoughts about a tragic event like the bombing of Guernica? The slaughter at Guernica greatly moved many people, and artists, and Picasso spent a long time on this great work that not everyone even liked. They obviously didn’t like initially his significant form. De Kooning, though, cried in front of the painting when it came to New York City. Was he only crying for the work’s beauty and significant form?
The greatness of “Guernica” is the almost perfect fusion of both form and content. Yes, Picasso did many other equally beautiful works —say, some from his Blue Period — but were they as powerful and troubling or as humbly human? Possibly, but it’s worth thinking about and not making declarations in advance about art as many famous formalist thinkers have at times done.
Secondly, regarding Gruenwald’s great work: If crucifixions are not one’s bag, they do influence us regarding a work of art! OK, so that was giving myself a free break with my imaginary formalist friend’s comment. But still, Gruenwald’s wasn’t just another crucifixion. It portrayed Christ as a suffering man, with scabby sores all over his body — as never shown before or since — and was placed in a hospital ward to remind the poor sick and dying that even Jesus suffered on this Earth and that suffering could be redeemed. That must be important to even the beauty of this work of art. For what about moral beauty in art? This artwork has comforted many AIDS victims; does that make it negatively propaganda?
To sum up, artists and art viewers are human beings with minds and histories and morals and hearts that are often broken. They often yearn for healing beauty. So true and great art must be a perfect matching and unity of form and content. Or sight and mind. Or else the greatness of art and of humanity is reduced to just an automatic firing response to something in our nerves, or even in our souls. This is similar to how Francis Bacon seemed to talk about his own art. I do agree that this is part of the puzzle of art, but it can’t be all of it! As Hegel pointed out, all opposites imply each other, so form’ must imply content. All art is form/content. Both are needed. Maybe form is the source of all beauty. Maybe the formalist is right about that (remember that I am, in part, a secret formalist, too, as I have no one else to talk to here!), but art, also, I humbly believe, has meaning, and that does not come from, or at least not completely from form, significant or otherwise.
My own acrylic painting shown here, “Two Lost Souls,” I think, is a good example of the ambiguity of form and content. What does it mean, if anything? I think it’s good formally, but don’t those looks on the two faces — its content — mean something, too? And doesn’t that make the painting better, or more meaningful?
Form needs content to be great art, especially meaningful and not just beautiful art. Formalism can, I fear, run the risk, if it pushes too far as a theory, in becoming only a form of aesthetic hedonism and reducing humanity sufferings and joys itself to artistic inscrutability. I am not of course criticizing any individual formalist thinker out there, just trying to help us all rethink these great art issues this New Year.
See you next week for the send half of this article, “Color in art.”
w
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