All Things Bright and Beautiful

Words are ghosts that will come back to haunt you, or so I quickly learned after I had been interviewed by a reporter with the BBC. She had been referred to me from a friend, who had declined the interview, and prior to sitting down with the tape recorder, we chatted seemingly aimlessly, developing a good rapport with each other. To my surprise, when the actual interview was conducted on tape, the reporter introduced a topic we had spoken about earlier; this took me off-guard especially as I didn’t want to share my answer with the world at large. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised, as both “rapport” and “report” share a Latin etymological root meaning “to bring or carry back.”

I recalled this exceptionally educational and embarrassing experience when I read an essay in the New York Time’s Sunday Book Review. The paragraph that triggered my memory follows:

“ Mark Haddon, who wrote numerous novels for children before The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, said in an e-mail message that he recalled 'a number of people looking down their noses at me when I explained what I did for a living, as if I painted watercolors of cats or performed as a clown at parties.' "

In the interest of full disclosure, I must confess that I have never read a single book by Mark Haddon, yet I question his ability to choose words wisely when writing. Perhaps he felt an email gave him the luxury to sling words fast and furious, without any thought of the import or meaning behind them. I suspect his comments referencing artists who paint watercolors of animals, cats in particular, are words that may come back to haunt him. Why? The art history chronicles are filled with the names and works of esteemed artists who have painted cats, both in watercolor and in other mediums, so perhaps Mr. Haddon might want to re-think his analogy.

One of the treasures in the British Museum is by a no lesser-talented artist than Leonardo Da Vinci included a drawing of a cat sitting with the Christ Child on the lap of the Madonna in his Virgin and Child with Cat . (AD 1478-81) Unfortunately, no painting of this study has survived or been subsequently discovered, although Rembrandt later was inspired to create an etching also entitled Virgin and Child with a Cat. (1654).

Other artists, such as Matisse, Goya, and Manet painted cats using their own particular style to capture the essence of the animal. Henri Matisse’s Girl with A Black Cat, was completed in 1910, and is presently in private collection.

Even Pierre-Auguste Renoir and Pablo Picasso shared an affection for cats, as evidenced by the number of paintings and drawings both artists created that included felines. Similarly, Theophile Alexandre Steinlen, the esteemed Swiss illustrator and collaborator of Emile Zola and Toulouse-Lautrec, is noted for his highly collectible paintings, posters and sculptures of cats.

One of my favorite paintings by Pierre Bonnard , a member of Les Nabis, can be found in the Musée d'Orsay, Paris. Characteristic of his colorful narrative paintings of interiors, the cat’s presence acts as an animated distinction to the immobility and calmness of his wife, Marthe.

Recently I discovered the work of the Key West Artist, Bill Borough whose website is http://www.keywestwatercolors.com . His realistic watercolor paintings focus on the buildings found in Key West, including Audubon House, the home of John James Audubon, the world-renown ornithologist, and at the house located at 1431 Duncan Street, generally known as Tennessee Williams' House. More relevant, however, to this discussion, Bill Borough has skillfully captured one of the felines lurking at the lovely Spanish Colonial house previously owned by Ernest Hemingway.

True diplomacy, like great art, involves having the sense to know how to express ideas succinctly and to restrain from the tendency to speak without knowledge of one’s subject, always opting to remain silent, when appropriate. Therefore, like a cat, I’ll now opt to remain silent and hope that the next time a writer addresses a wider audience, words are chosen wisely instead of in dismissive haste.

The Emperor's New Clothes

Rudyard Kipling wisely contended, "Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind." Words can draw you in and seduce you---they are the Mata Hari of the marketing industry.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons why every profession I am aware of elects to develop its own "jargon." Language serves to act as a barrier against those who are "not amongst the chosen membership". Relatedly, one's lack of knowledge of the jargon or inappropriate use of the language will quickly alert the profession's sentinels and elitist hound dogs meant to keep outsiders at bay.

In a recent article published by the New York Times, Roberta Smith accuses the art community of leading the charge on "obtuse language." Interestingly, I forwarded the article to a dear friend who is "outside" of the art world, and many of the language usages were unfamiliar to her astute and learned ear. Truly, Ms. Smith hit a nerve, for I was unaware that "ArtSpeak" has been so cloistered that it continues to prohibit entry for even the more cultured mavens of our society.

"Symbolical Head, Illustrating the Natural Language of the Faculties."
(Image from Wells, Samuel. How to Read Character. New York: Wells Publishing, 1870. p.36.)

I couldn't help but reflect on my experience at Art Basel Miami---the monstrously proportioned and equally prestigious art fair, with more than 20 fairs that piggybacked on the main event held at the Miami Convention Center. The fair is billed as "the most important art show in the United States." Collectors, artists, VIPs and gallery owners are aware that this is the place to view and sell contemporary and modern art -- works whose intent and meanings are seemingly secret, posed in riddles, and decipherable only by the cognisenti.

Most individuals attending the larger fair darted from booth to booth, exhausting themselves rather than entering into full appreciation of some of the fine art that graced the pristine white walls in the 200+ mini-galleries from all over the world. I was acutely aware that the largest percentage of attendees at the fairs were happily oblivious to what they were actually viewing--so much for the import of artistic meaning and metaphor! Indeed, ArtSpeak was heard frequently at Art Basel Miami this past December; I quickly ascertained that the word of the week was "edgy". By the end of the fair, I came to re-define "edgy" as "over-priced schlock."

More importantly, however, it appeared to me that many people who were actually buying art are more concerned with potential profits from a future sale of the piece than the craftsmanship, skill and message of the artist. As an artist, this offended me. I want my patrons to love my work---and not just buy it as a tax dodge or as another commodity in their investment portfolio. Perhaps it would have been different if the artists were present, rather than the agents and gallery owners who mastered the art of ArtSpeak , psychology and economics; I really don't know.

But I suspect individuals who purchase art as investments and have no concern with regard to the artist's process or inherent meaning of a given work are often the same individuals who would be heartily surprised to discover the reality of the Emperor's new clothes. Perhaps this is why art critics tend to write in Modern ArtSpeak?