Art Theory and Heidi Klum

How naive do you have to be to think that any art theory is entirely adequate to anything? Never mind that the theories of, say, Rosalind Krauss or Arthur Danto may well be adequate to nothing except the desire to exercise the theorist's power, such as it is. So, staying with the improbability that any theory is entirely adequate, let us consider the further possibility that no theory of art, no matter how old or neglected, is entirely inadequate. Take, for example, the neoplatonic theory that art succeeds when it offers an image of some transcendent something that combines absolute Truth with absolute Beauty. Granted, neoplatonism is less rampant in the art world than in the fashion world, where Heidi Klum is being promoted as "the Perfect One." Still, there is a tinge of neoplatonism to any absolutist judgment about any work of art. My point? A theory of art has no power to render any other theory wrong. Theories of art do not supersede one another. They accumulate, and it is only those looking for shortcuts to wisdom who glom onto a contemporary theory as if it were all that is needed. So sad! To think that Kraussian or Dantesque or Buchlovian theory puts you in touch with the meaning of art is like thinking that, to get in touch with ordinary life, one should wear oven mitts.

Contra Danto

Arthur Danto says that there is no visible difference between a Brillo Box by Andy Warhol and an ordinary, supermarket Brillo box. As I noted in an earlier post, this is simply wrong, as any fool can plainly see. Danto is no fool, so his error must have a purpose. What could it be? Gosh, I wonder. Danto is not only a philosopher but also an ambitious philosopher and ambitious philosophers have this in common with bright ten-year-olds: they are know-it-alls with an explanation for everything. So I wonder if Danto designed his Brillo Box error as the keystone of a total explanation of the history of art. If so, this is how it works:
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The history of art, according to Danto, is driven by a question: what is the relation between art and the world? From Neolithic times to the Abstract Expressionist era, various artists answered this question in various ways, not one of which was absolutely conclusive. Then along came Andy, who made Brillo Boxes indistinguishable from real Brillo boxes. Art and the world converged and the history of art came to an end. Gee whiz, Professor Danto, that's amazing! And so convenient. No more of those pesky art-historical problems, now that art history is over and done with.
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Danto's philosophizing does away with a large, messy subject and, even more helpfully, it shows us how to make sense of art without actually looking at it. And who, in our hectic, ADD-afflicted world doesn't need to cut corners? If you can acquire Danto's knack of looking but not seeing, it shouldn't be all that difficult to learn to listen without hearing, to read without understanding, and so on and on and on. The savings in time and energy—in other words, the increases in productivity—are potentially limitless, and isn't that what it's all about? Increased productivity?

The Stockholm Brillo Box Syndrome

Andy Warhol's first retrospective was organized in 1968 by Pontus Hulton, esteemed director of the Moderna Museet, in Stockholm—and I'm not being snarky here. Hulten, who died in 2006, was indeed esteemed, for that exhibition and many others. In 1990, he organized another Warhol retrospective, for the State Russian Museum in St. Petersburg. As you might expect, it featured a batch of Brillo Boxes. The show would have been incomplete without them. The trouble was that the Boxes on view at the St. Petersburg museum were not products of the Warhol Factory. Hulten had them manufactured by Swedish carpenters.
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If they were authentic, the Stockholm Boxes would be worth more than $75 million. But they're fakes. Not only that, they are flagrant fakes—a cinch to distinguish from Andy's Boxes, just as Andy's Boxes are a cinch to distinguish from the supermarket kind.
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What to do, what to do? I mean, if we believe in a free and unencumbered art market, what sense does it make to deprive that market of $75 million worth of merchandise?
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Here's my suggestion. Add Arthur Danto to the Andy Warhol Art Authentication Board. Why? Because Danto claims that there is no visible difference between a Warhol Brillo Box and the Brillo boxes manufactured by Purex Industries. From this silly claim follows Danto's “end-of-art” theory—more on that in a later post. The point for now is this: having said that he can't tell a Warhol Brillo Box from a real Brillo box, Danto should be willing to say that he can't tell a Stockholm fake from a real Warhol. And this is just what the Authentication Board would love to hear, given its cozy relations with the dealers who have become the approved outlets for authenticated Warhols.
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This would not be win-win. It would be win-win-win. Danto's willful blindness to the obvious differences between a Warhol Brillo Box and a real one would receive institutional recognition. By settling once and for all the problem of the Stockholm Boxes, the Authentication Board would solidify its relations with certain dealers by doing them a substantial favor. As the recipients of this favor, these dealers would see impressive improvements in their bottom lines. Yay, market! Yay, authentication games! And, above all, yay to the fog that conveniently descends upon all those who need to be blind if they are to formulate their theories about visual art!