A “virtual” opportunity for art criticism.
As I make my way down the spiral walls of the Guggenheim in New York, I stop to observe the flowing brushstrokes of Van Gogh’s Mountains at Saint-Rémy. The familiar blue skies melt into the green treetops, but the details blur as I try to focus on the painting. I can only imagine the faded décor of its once-gilded frame. I can’t feel the ache in my legs from walking down Museum Mile on my usual rampage through New York’s innumerable museums. The air-conditioned environment doesn’t chill me to the bone, and the reverential quietness of visitors around me is undetectable. I’m alone. Alone with the hundreds or thousands of IP addresses perusing the museum’s online art offering. I’m not so lonely after all.
This year’s global pandemic forced art institutions across the globe to go digital. Museums, galleries, and art fairs shut their doors and rushed to publish content online. As they attempted to offer a semblance of continuity and maintain their relevance in the art world, they flooded the web with a massive volume of art, previously only accessible to viewers who traveled and had money.
“The pandemic, incredibly, is ushering in a golden age of virtual media,” wrote Laura Feinstein for the Guardian. “While the world has never felt more physically isolated, digital media have offered a bridge, as well as an exciting range of experiences.” Today, with any device connected to the internet I can visit the Vatican Museums in Rome, the British Museum in London, and the National Palace Museum in Taipei from the homely comfort of my taupe-colored sofa, enveloped by the sweet rose scent of the candle burning in my living room, all in one afternoon and for free.
The opportunity of providing this availability is a godsend in a year like 2020. First of all, because art is necessary for people’s health, especially in moments of psychological hardship and trauma like the pandemic we are living through. Aristotle noted that art could be a form of therapy. Through the concept of catharsis, he explained how negative emotions, such as pity and fear, could be aroused and purged by experiencing art and aesthetically pleasing content. Catharsis takes place when the connection between the person and the art they are experiencing is intense and pervasive.
Other recent studies have demonstrated that art is an effective therapeutic tool in both its active (e.g., playing an instrument) and passive (e.g., looking at a painting) forms. “[Several studies] appear to indicate that creative engagement can decrease anxiety, stress, and mood disturbances,” stated Heather L. Stuckey and Jeremy Nobel in a 2010 article in the American Journal of Public Health.
“That awe, wonder, and beauty promote healthier levels of cytokines suggest that the things we do to experience these emotions—a walk in nature, losing oneself in music, beholding art—have a direct influence upon health and life expectancy,” according to a 2015 University of California Berkeley study. In a global pandemic, when leaving one’s apartment is risky, the only way to benefit from this positive impact of art is to access content available online.
Nevertheless, this means viewing artworks virtually, mediated by a screen. It creates a barrier that inhibits our appreciation of the work. It limits our ability to visualize its form, understand its size, shape, and texture. As John Berger would say, our computer screen shows us an image that embodies the way of seeing who recorded that image. For example, when one takes a photograph, he chooses how to frame what he sees, and “the photographer’s way of seeing is reflected in his choice of subject,” (pg.10). He also writes that the camera changes an artwork’s meaning, “the camera reproduces a painting, it destroys the uniqueness of its image.” (pg. 19)
While clearly necessary, enjoying art digitally creates distance from the artworks we are viewing. As virtual viewers, we miss the ability to fully see an artwork: the detailed pattern of brush strokes on a canvas, the thicker daubs of acrylic paint casually left behind the selection of wisely picked polychromatic hues, or the sinuous movement in the meticulously drawn lines. We risk getting used to an “impoverished” experience, always available and free, which might reduce our willingness to pay for in-person cultural experiences in the future.
A blurred and distant image cannot provide this depth. What if the virtual viewing was complemented by the description of experiencing such work, by someone who has had the opportunity to truly see that art piece before? What if we had someone narrate what it feels like to stand in front of the Winged Victory of Samothrace at the Louvre? Someone who describes what it feels like taking in the monumental weight of the marbled boat-shaped basement as you walk up the stairs; the stark contrast with the lightness of the winged figure standing atop; the delicate flow of the thin dressed draped around the goddess, how it caresses her figure and reveals the body it covers; the lightness with which it is carved makes it seems to move before our eyes. The harshly decapitated figure beautifully spreads its strong wings, imposing over the viewer who timidly and deferentially approaches. Could words bring a fuzzy image into focus?
Accessing art virtually might have highlighted the relevance of this key experiential aspect of viewing art, even for the experts who write about it. “This more reflective, more personal moment in art criticism may widen the audience for arts writing. Because critics deal with art on a daily basis, they sometimes fail to communicate something more fundamental: the daily lived experience of having art in one’s life,” writes art and architecture critic Philip Kennicott for the Washington Post.
This might be an opportunity for critics to explore a different way of writing about art, a way that supports those who engage with art digitally. Providing criticism that adds a deeply physical experience could mean finding new, richer, and easily readable ways to look at art. Though she couldn’t imagine today’s virtual art world, in 1964, Susan Sontag embraced a more sensorial art criticism. “The function of criticism should be to show how it is what it is, even that it is what it is, rather than show what it means.” (pg. 14) Sontag thought criticism should stop focusing on interpreting content and meaning and provide “a really accurate, sharp, loving description of the appearance of a work of art.” (pg. 13)
The digitalization of art exhibitions could become an opportunity to alter the critical paradigm of artistic understanding from content-driven to form-driven. For example, it could help those who have trouble experiencing art due to disability or illness find new ways to engage with it. It might help a wider audience consume artistic content, including those who can’t afford a trip to the museum because of time and money constraints. Ultimately, helping people not only look at art but really see it, its beauty and materiality, could lead to a wider manifestation of the phenomenon of catharsis – bringing people closer to the art rather than further away.
