Art Who?

Once upon a time, I took a “Philosophy of Aesthetics” class and on a rare day when I actually attended a lecture, the discussion was on the validity of artistic interpretation. Specifically, is it fair to find meaning in a work that the artist didn’t intend to put there? People who picket galleries or sign petitions to complain about a joke on a sitcom notwithstanding, there is a serious argument on both sides.

My grandmother read “The Lord of the Rings” back in the early 1960s. She liked it fine, no big deal, until she saw or read some interview with Tolkein in which he stated unequivocally that the story was not an anti-war allegory. All of a sudden, her perspective of the books shifted; what she had considered mediocre literature she suddenly considered a mediocre fairy tale.

I remembered all this when Robert and I were talking about music yesterday. He commented on the inanity of the lyrics of a band I like. Since I rarely understand anyone’s lyrics (old fogy alert!) that started me thinking.

You know that movie/TV show you really liked until you saw an interview with the star? Your experience with, and feelings for, the work changed because of the information that the actor is an egotist/idiot/(insert political affiliation here). It can go the other way, when you find out more about what the author/director intended, you take the work more seriously and give it another chance. Don’t make that face, it’s happened to me.

Art is an expression of meaning, or an experience of beauty, or both or neither. I enjoy music despite my complete ignorance of a lot of the lyrics. Traditional examples of beauty include sunsets and a child’s laugh. My own example would be the onion soup at Fleur de Lys. Does the depth of my admiration make a bowl of soup Art? Think of the first person who snorted, “My five year old paints better than that!” before you answer.

This is what happens when a degree in Philosophy outlives its sell-by date, folks. It ain’t pretty, and it sure ain’t art.