Let Me Tell You About Art

Last year, I went to Portugal to visit a friend and explore a little bit of the world. This friend of mine is an artist who works at an art gallery, so she took the opportunity to bring me there and show me around. The exhibition at her gallery was, well, interesting. I guess that's the word you use when you don't have anything particularly positive to say about it, but aren't put off either. There were pieces on the walls and even a room devoted to a video projected on to a screen of hanging rods. I couldn't say I thought it was cool, but I didn't let on any boredom.

The real tour didn't begin until my friend took me into her boss's office. All along the walls were works of tremendous quality and size. Some were hanging, some were leaning, but the quality was self-evident in all of them. She rattled off the worth of some as I looked them over with appreciation; fifteen thousand euros, twenty-five...

Then I found one that really made me smile. It was obviously the work of a four year old.

"Aww! That's so sweet. He took a drawing that his daughter made, framed it and put it up amongst all the other artists," I mused.

Confused, she looked to see which one I was referring to.

"Actually," she corrected me, "that's a Picasso. And its worth two hundred and fifteen thousand euros."

Later, when my friend was visiting me in New York, we paid a visit to the MOMA. I pretended not to look completely unstimulated as we strolled through the collection, but I found myself losing control of my demeanor as the day went on. First there was a small bed drenched in paint, then there was a white canvas painted white, this was followed by a totally black canvas. I had had enough, so I spoke up.

"This isn't art. This is conceptual bullshit. If this guy can get a black canvas into the MOMA, why can't I?"

She explained to me that art doesn't always speak for itself. Sometimes you need to understand the artist or the era to realize why a piece is important enough to make it on to the wall.

"Sure, historical importance may be worthy of display at a museum, but don't expect me to be musing over the genius behind this lazy crap. What does that say about art if a black canvas is given such high esteem? I think this guy just got lucky with the right delusional sucker to look at his work and gush about it." I had clearly lost control of my amiable facade.

But who was I to say anything? Here were thousands of people who pay good money every day to pace through the galleries filled with canvases that displayed nothing but dots, squares, circles, splotches, lines or empty space. There was something I was not getting.

Now we have the latest saga in my rejection of conceptual, subjective art. What is this love affair with Johnny Cash's cover of Nine Inch Nails' Hurt? Let me rephrase that. I understand why people like it. And everyone likes it. Some even say that it is better than the original. Trent Reznor himself even thinks so! Cash has essentially repurposed Reznor's angsty masterpiece and turned it into a song about regret. That doesn't make it a good song, though. Sure, it's Johnny Cash, and he's a legend, but I've never liked a song just because of the singer.

Johnny Cash's rendition of Hurt is boring and awkward. His voice is old and to hear it rattle off the lyrics that I am used to hearing from a desperate self-loathing Reznor, in a clunky adaptation with its own inflection, conjures up memories of how Julia Child's voice got creepier and creepier as she aged. The video for the song, which is also cited as brilliantly emotional, just turns me off completely because Cash is such a bad actor in it.

I don't give anyone the benefit of the doubt when it comes to art and I don't believe that an artist's previous work or life need be taken into account when appreciating a single solitary piece. I might understand if a song is part of an ensemble or a concept album, but a single must be a single on its own right. As must any work of art.

My argument is that 90% of the appreciation felt for many pieces is totally arbitrary. 10% is based on the actual aesthetic while the rest is all about someone creating an interpretation in their head. As the past beneficiary of such generous donation of emotional resources (what I mean is that someone has praised my half-assed work as brilliant and I felt absolutely dumbfounded) I can't stand it when people get undue credit for minimal or subpar effort. It's like the artist spits on a canvas and the audience does the rest of the work by building the story and meaning. Pat your fucking self on the back for liking it, not the artist.

The worst part is that when someone builds this arbitrary concept of the art in their head, they share it with others and it becomes memetic. Like a lone spectator staring into empty space who soon gathers a crowd looking to see what he does (or doesn't), one person's grand interpretation of bad art becomes the art itself. People would rather connect with each other by sharing the ridiculous interpretations of shoddy art than to stand apart and call it what it is. Crap.