The Non-Artist's Guide to Art Museums

Do you, like many, find yourself cocking your head awkwardly, one eye half-squinted, when encountered with a particularly confounding artwork in a museum?

You are not alone, my friend.

There are preventative measures for the mildly discomforting neck-ache (and no doubt headache) incurred by such strenuous observation after spending the day in the modern-day art museum.

I have been having serious issues with art these days. No, not art. The lack of interest in it and the common negative attitude toward it, which I have reason to believe arises from grievous misunderstandings of art. And so, I will offer my own advice on how to approach art in the current sea of art trends.

I realize you'll ask, "What makes you qualified to give such advice?"
I don't claim to be the most qualified person, but I do believe I have enough credentials for the following reasons:

1) I have produced art in all mediums for as long as I can remember and am two classes shy from an art degree.

2) My favorite subject is art history. I have been studying everything from prehistoric cave drawings to high renaissance art to post-modernist art to performance art to comic sequential art. I know a fair amount of artwork spanning all ages and mediums.

3) I am not your typical artist. I have this theory that to be a "true" artist, you must have experienced immense trauma in your life. Salvador Dali was raised believing he was the reincarnation of his deceased older brother. Vincent van Gogh's works prove the results of too much paint-eating. I, on the other hand, still have both ears intact and am the middle child of five in a loving, supportive family. I have no serious complaints, fortunately. Or in this case, not so fortunate as I am not driven to express inner turmoils with paint on a canvas, and thus, will never make my name in the art world.

But that does mean I can look at art from the perspective of a non-artist. I paint things that I think are pretty, simple as that. I myself have stood, I can't even guess how many times, before "art" and just looked at it, hoping something would come of it or I might find something to like in it. Of course, nothing does.

Many a time, I've also wondered what the world is coming to when looking at art.My point is, I'm right there with you when befuddled by a particularly incomprehensible piece.

My qualifications established, I will attempt the daunting task of setting a definition for art. Now, being an artist, honestly, doesn't make you any more qualified to determine what art is than a non-artist. I do, however, think we can at least offer you a few tools in the form of criteria to look for. You know, the basics.

But first, a definition.

I suppose an etymological, straight-from-the-dictionary definition is a good place to start. Art: "the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance." Not bad. I think the key words here are "aesthetic principles," "beautiful," "appealing," and "more than ordinary significance."

Art has always been, and continues to be, just another form of expression. Not unlike words, except it's more well-suited for those who, well, maybe just weren't gifted with eloquent prose. Sometimes, though, I feel this is taken a bit to the extreme. I believe if you are going to express yourself, especially publicly, you should keep your audience in mind. You definitely shouldn't let the audience control how you express, but at least acknowledge that others would be looking at your artwork to grasp something from it. This lack of consideration for audience is an immense problem in today's art world, I feel. Artists seem to get so caught up in "expression" they end up in the self-centered lane.

This is where attention to the aforementioned "aesthetic principles" is crucial. An artwork that not only has something to say, but says it in a way that's memorable because it adheres to the aesthetic principles of "beautiful," "appealing," or of "more than ordinary significance," has a better chance of positively impacting its viewer. No doubt something that startles or baffles you negatively does impact you, but I'd say you tend to remember things--more fondly, even--when they bring a smile to your face rather than a look of disgust.

Of course, within those aesthetic principles, there is a wide degree of what qualifies as beautiful or appealing--every person has their own definition of these words. I think Henry Geldzahler, an art critic, came up with a fairly good theory. He suggested that good artwork stays with you--a week, a day, a year later--you still remember its form, its lines and the elements that worked so well together that the image stayed with you.

"If a work calls itself to memory," he said, "without your asking it, if it insists, if it comes back like a melody, then that's quite serious and you probably have to buy it."

Now, obviously, the majority of things we see are either not for purchase or beyond our fiscal means. However, if you get that urge to want to own it, then yes, it means something.

Geldzahler also insisted that good artwork continues to reveal something to you. If at first glance you look at it and are transfixed, that's great and all, but does it keep your interest? If you were to return to it at a later time, would it be a new experience all over again?

Artwork that withstands this kind of extended scrutiny surely must be worthy. In a way, finding good artwork is like finding a good significant other: the true test of having something valuable is hat it continues to astound you in new ways, never getting old.