The Anchoring Absurdity of Art

Recently, my friend Leanne wrote a terrific blog post illustrating the craziness and interpretations of art. In high school, she painted a picture of a mushroom and turned it in to her art teacher. The teacher was blown away by the image on the canvas: an adolescent's compelling, disturbing commentary on nuclear warfare. The painting was entered into a contest and won a prize. But all along, Leanne thought she had just painted a mushroom sitting on her kitchen table.

This reminded me of another story, about a friend of mine who, as a child, was being tested to see if he needed to be in the "special" class. Sitting at his desk, big chunky crayons in hand, he was told to draw a picture. Any picture. So he drew the bloody crucifixion of Jesus, complete with a crown of thorns, spears in the side, and nails driven into flesh. The teacher was aghast and immediately called his parents. "Are you an overly religious family?" she asked concernedly, imagining, I'm sure, all sorts of religious indoctrination and ritual abuse. His mother replied honestly, "No. Not at all." Later, when he was home from school, his mom asked him why in the world he would draw something like Christ's gory crucifixion. He answered, "I thought I was supposed to draw something IMPORTANT!". A week later the letter from the school came: he had been chosen as the newest member of the "special" class.

Alas, this is the story of all art. It's nothing new. It's been happening since the beginning of time. For instance, John Singer Sargent's 1884 painting "Portrait of Madame X" scandalized Paris because of it's suggestions of aggressive sexuality and unabashed I-want-to-fuck-you-like-an-animal eroticism. The refined, respected socialite who posed for the painting was nearly ruined by her portrait's shocking reception. She would forever after be viewed as a big ol' French ho.

Looking at the painting today, it's difficult to find even a hint of the pornography seen by Parisian society circa 1884. It's a breathtaking work of art, but c'mon: it makes Sesame Street look like a gay bondage film.

As Leanne brilliantly observed, "Art is absurd, so enjoy it." All art is subjective, thereby opening it to criticisms and interpretations of the wildest ideas, thereby assigning we silly humans to the role of judge, jury, and executioner. And we all know that as a rule, people are pretty absurd. So perhaps it would be more accurate to say, "The people who view art are absurd, so enjoy it." Sargent's "Madame X" wasn't controversial or anarchic or inspiring back-alley blow jobs when it was sitting on the easel to dry. We're the ones who slapped it with scandal.

This line of thinking can be applied to any art form. Take my frequent criticisms of movies and books. As much as I'd like to think that I am the ultimate authority in such things, and therefore deserve a crown and scepter, I begrudgingly acknowledge that my movie and book reviews are just my opinions. I'd venture to guess that your opinions would be quite different than my own. There are works of art you may like that I don't. For example, I know a lot of people who enjoyed that dirty toilet bowl of a movie called "Troy". I know people who snatch up Danielle Steel books faster than Winona Ryder at Barney's. I even know some people who don't particularly care for Meryl Streep. Though those in the latter category deserve to be beaten with a blunt object, I'm pretty much OK with each of us harboring differing opinions. Our own absurdities give art its power.

But it must be said that art, no matter how absurd we make it, is vital. Not to mention that for many of us, art is something more: a reason to get up in the morning, an escape, a catharsis, an anchor that keeps our feet planted in this world but our imaginations in the ether. People need art and everything that goes along with it. It is only through art, and all its attendant absurdities, that we are able to digest our own experiences and find meaning in them.

So is art absurd? Of course it is. We make it so, for the simple reason that we are absurd.

Is art meant to be enjoyed? Absolutely. Enjoyed, analyzed, criticized, and inspected as a mirror of our own realities, existing to show us what we cannot otherwise readily see.

The absurdities of art are the main thoroughfares through which we discover ourselves and the world. They reveal all the insanities of life that we are meant to unearth. It requires great devotion, and for so many of us, it commands each moment of our lives. To quote Jean Cocteau, "Art is not a pastime, but a priesthood."