There are many things art is not. For one, art is not compromise.
Art is not conformity. Art is not formulaic or expected or predictable. Rather, art is a savage force, one that is spontaneous and harshly personal to the artist. Art is the rawest form of expression known to mankind, and can be manifested through a variety of mediums, whether it is sculpture, architecture, painting, music, or literature.
Anna Fontaine knew this to be true, and it seemed as if she might be the only one who knew. Tattered scraps of blue paper decorated her studio, with half-shaped sculptures adding a sort of eerie presence.
At school, Fontaine thought she knew what art was. The first day, her professor defined it for her: the application of skill and imagination into a form to be appreciated and critiqued by popular standards. At first she had blindly accepted this definition, spoon-fed by her Classically trained traditional “superiors” with the rest of her peers. But as Fontaine’s passion blossomed, so did resentment with the establishment.
Fontaine’s first major work was a sculpture. Inspired by work she had seen on a trip to Rome
“Anna—” she started, struggling for words. Fontaine had sculpted Aphrodite in a morose, asymmetrical style. One arm was protruding grotesquely off the side. A leg was thick, the other gracile. Her hair twisted like a briar patch, erupting into a barrage of callous thorns. When her professor had heard she had picked Aphrodite as her subject, she was ready for a traditional depiction of the goddess. To her, this was not art.
“—I must say, this is—shocking.” Her professor said, regaining composure. The lines of her face creased faintly, but just enough for Fontaine to still sense disdain.
“It’s my interpretation, professor. Some people see beauty differently than others, and thus express it differently.” Anna said, defending her work.
“Yes, of course, but that’s not how Aphrodite is supposed to be!”
Oh, how those words stung. Anna didn’t see Aphrodite as some classical Greco-Roman figure to be countlessly exploited in various studies and sketches. She is a concept, a theme; an ephemeral visage open to the interpretation of the viewer.
That Aphrodite sat in the middle of Fontaine’s studio, serving as an eternal reminder. Humans will always compartmentalize: they will always attempt to shape and mold foreign ideas and notions to fit the limited socially-accepted parameters of the common man. But art is of a higher order. It is the direct expression of its creator, a unique moment all to its own. Unfettered by the critiques of those who fail to understand, it evolves faster than the mind, stemming rather from the consciousness and subconsciousness of its architect.
Anna Fontaine quickly outgrew her professors. At first, she tried to understand, but it felt morally wrong. How is art a true inward expression when it has to meet certain standards and quotas instated by those in charge? That’s not being visionary; that’s being a slave! A slave of an intellectually unprepared populace, led by those as ignorant as their flock. Fontaine knew that she needed expertise by learning from higher education. But she couldn’t bear the restraints.
She tried to emulate them, but she failed. So, for a time, she decided to give them what they wanted. Her professor was pleased by the next few pieces. A shaped vase with a delicate pattern. A pleasing sculpture of two figures sitting on a bench. A friendly tree. Her professor approached her after her presentation of a glass ornament, saying:
“Oh Anna, this is wonderful glasswork! I am so glad you’ve toned it down. Looking back, we can laugh together on your Aphrodite!”
Anna feigned a smile, but oddly felt hurt inside. She had achieved the professor’s acceptance, hadn’t she? Why did it feel so wrong?
“Oh yes, that Aphrodite. How would you describe it now?” Anna asked her professor.
“Oh, mindless rebellion. We all feel it: that ‘urge’ to defy the structured orthodoxy. It was just a phase for you, I’m sure. Artists go through phases, you know.” She said. Anna smiled curtly and left the room feeling entirely empty.
Fontaine knew deep inside what was amiss: she had gained the accolades of her teacher, but in the process she alienated herself.
And what of rebellion? Art is rebellion! Rebellion against the establishment, always seeking to break new ground in every manner and field. Art is the supreme form of expression, uncensored by society.
It was at that moment that she understood art: expansive and moving, a flowing fluid entity who always recreates itself in the image of its maker. Art does not go into phases, as her professor had told her: rather, it stems from the personal ambitions and passions of its artist. Pablo Picasso did not create cubism for the simple sake of going through a phase: he created cubism as a way to express the inner desire to view subjects in ways previously impossible. In a way, his work (like Anna’s) was an act of defiance: a revolt against the standards of society in a way to more perfectly express his inner vision. As his vision changed, so did his art. People perceive this as a “phase”, disregarding the human aspect of the emotional investment placed into art. Hence, art, in any form, is a physical extension of the artist’s consciousness. The corporal aspect allows others to analyze, appreciate, and connect with the artist, and allows the viewer to frame his or her own feelings into something tangible and understandable.
Anna looked at her Aphrodite. The piece was an ‘abomination’ to some, but was a way for others to channel their personal views of something (in this case, beauty) into something easily examinable. In that sense, art is the great empathizer. Anna was afraid to use the word ‘uniter’, for art certainly doesn’t unite the masses. However, everybody can identify with at least one piece of art, whether music, painting, literature, architecture, or any other form of expression.
She had told that to her art professor: she wasn’t very happy with Anna’s conclusions.
“Anna, I had truly thought you had outgrown your defiance. There’s no use attempting to—to fight the world of art! It’s just a fact of life that certain things are popular now, and smart artists should take advantage of the increased publicity of certain art. Its how art becomes famous! Surely you must understand, right Anna?”
That day, Anna resigned from her art classes. It was oddly liberating.
Art was not meant to conform to the public! Such ‘art’ is not art, and the artists no longer are artists. Rather, they become sell-outs. Such artists turn into success-oriented businessmen and women, focusing on the notoriety of their work instead of the expressive ingenuity. This work, and all those that follow in the same vein, become pale imitations whose only purpose is to feed the voracious appetite of the mainstream. In essence, truly useless and emotionless pieces of matter arbitrarily put together into something ‘pleasing’.
So now, Anna Fontaine sat in her studio, surrounded by her creations. They were wild, unrepressed representations of various subjects; all inert representations of her true self (as art should be). Anna knew that dropping her classes would present a stumbling block for her career, but as an artist, she knew she would prevail. She had shaken off the chains of the mainstream, and donned the regalia of true artistry: unabashed emotion.
Art is not compromise.
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