Consider it, friends. Read Jonny’s post and watch Kate Tempest in action.

Summarizing Dutton’s faithfully imaginative examples of the evolutionary history of art, his point is quite agreeable that as far back as we can see human beings tend to admire skillfully crafted artifacts, and that this admiration, awe and wonder persist to the present. He seems to suggest that the more recent phenomenon of ‘conceptual art’ is considerably different from this more established sense of the artistic craft.

Writes Dutton:

What is important today is not technical skill, but skill in playing inventively with ideas.

‘Playing inventively with ideas’… I think that’s a brilliant phrase. Has the age of the image given way to the age of the idea? Can art become ideation? If so, what does that mean for art and artists? To be sure, there are those who take ideation to the level of art form, but don’t miss the point Dutton is raising. Ideation is typically viewed as a tool in the service of producing, yielding or creating something in physical space (whether visual, tactile, audible, etc.) Some ‘artists’ are essentially claiming that their idea (quite apart from its implementation, if any) is actually art.

Conceptual art refers not to an object or artifact crafted by an artist, but to an abstract idea of it, or to the purposeful arrangement of objects. ‘Found art’ could arguably be counted in this category. The conceptual artist provokes a thought or suggests an idea that is experienced as art. Imagine a painter of ideas, or a sculptor of the imagination. These are perhaps the ideal archetypes, but some contemporary conceptual artists elicit large sums of money by affixing their name to someone else’s artistic work and displaying it in a particular way (see Dutton’s article for some recent examples). The price awards the idea rather than the craftsmanship or manifestation of the arrangement of found objects themselves. Is this kind of mental transaction appropriately termed ‘art’ and is it actually worth funding?

Here we must visit the grey area between life lived and life portrayed. Some forms of art such as photography are admired because of the eye or the perspective of the artist more than the paper and ink or the pixels that display the piece (though artistic decisions are made in such details as well). Sometimes a poem’s only praiseworthy quality is that the poet has opened our eyes to see something old in a new way.

In essence, the artistic value is ultimately in the communicative action that reverberates between the artist and the one who encounters the artwork. The artwork itself is a vehicle for ideas. This is not the only viable philosophy of art, however.

Enter another observation by Dutton:

Even when we have lost contact with the social or religious ideas behind the arts of bygone civilizations, we are still able, as with the great bronzes or temples of Greece or ancient China, to respond directly to craftsmanship. The direct response to skill is what makes it possible to find beauty in many tribal arts even though we often know nothing about the beliefs of the people who created them. There is no place on earth where superlative technique in music and dance is not regarded as beautiful.

He is essentially observing the edge of a crisis of definition. What is art? But there is another more subtle question: who is the artist behind the art?

Yesterday, I heard a professor respond humorously to a list of key names that have contributed direction to a major building project. He pointed out that he should be listed among those names because, as a teacher, he had ’shaped and molded’ the man whose name the building bears. Although his comment was in jest, let’s imagine for a moment that it reflects a shift in our culture’s definition of art. At what point do we draw the line of ‘credit’ for the artistic achievement. I thought it was interesting that the architect and developer were not listed among those who have contributed significantly to the project. I’m quite sure, despite this oversight, that the men and women named are not the ones being paid to produce the building. Who are the real artists here, and what criteria will help us discover them?

Perhaps what we’re really experiencing is a cultural crisis of attribution.

In a strange way, the words of the late Jesuit leader, Pedro Arrupe, have helped me live this journey. His counsel in dealing with the mystery of life and death was as simple as it was profound: “Nothing is more practical than finding God, that is, than falling in love in a quite absolute, final way. What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination will affect everything. It will decide what will get you out of bed in the mornings, what you will do with your evenings, how you spend your weekends, what you read, who you know, what breaks your heart, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything.”

I’m not certain of the source of this quote but will attempt to discover it. If you know, please comment.

You can also now follow IAM on Twitter.

I am torn between writing and taking action. For the poet, the two are not supposed to be separable, but it is so difficult—perhaps impossible for human beings—to keep the two together. On the one hand it takes reflexion and discipline to observe and to write well. Communication is an art but it requires subject and object as much as skill. Aligning these three stars is sometimes a battle. It’s a little like trying to find a good cup of coffee in America. It’s not impossible, but it’s very, very difficult.

On the other hand, there is never a lack of things to do for someone who is action-oriented. These acts, whatever they are, are potential distractors from the art of writing. So, we find ourselves speaking in terms of two arts:  that of Writing and that of Acting. Many may begin with a desire to integrate the two, but they end up compromising in one of the following ways. Some choose to write in order to inspire others to action. Others choose to live a life of action that is as poetically charged as possible, finding inspiration in the poetry of others. Although each of these is a worthy occupation for some, the true poet recognizes in them the jingle of compromise. Desiring to live a life that does not yield to compromise, I find both of the aforementioned options untenable.

In the life of the poet, the art of Writing and the art of Acting ideally find their integration in the art of Being. But being what? That is the question that haunts me presently. For years, I have said, “being a poet” and soothed my concience by adding that a poet “sees things in a particular light of understanding and nuance,” but I know this is as empty a definition for life’s calling as it is a truthful characteristic of a poet.

I think I have found a way forward, though it is shrouded in mystery. The opening of the Gospel of John provides some instructive corrections to a solely human perspective. John describes Jesus as the Word of God, but strongly identifies him with God’s creative speech in Genesis 1-2. The continual refrain of “And God said…” is to be understood, in John’s framework, as a reference to Jesus. Not that Jesus was the speaker, but that he was the speech and the action perfectly integrated. God spoke and it was. His Word created from nothing the things he spoke into being. To be sure, this is a great mystery which we cannot fully understand. Perhaps some reflexion on this mystery will cast some light on the poet’s dilemma.

Poets sometimes claim that their words are creative forces which bring into being something that was not previously in existence. I think this claim is empty, but the desire behind the hope (or delusion) is full of meaning. I would like, sometimes, to think that the words I write or speak have the power to conjure up some thought or image or action ex-nihilo (out of nothing). But I believe, having attempted it with earnest faith, such hope is in vain. I think that the best a poet, or any artist for that matter, can do is to reorder what already exists. We can present reality in ways that seem fresh or provoke a sense of wonder, but we work with a created order that exists beyond our ability to re-create it. We can at best shape it or present it in a different light.

It is not the same for God. He is able to create ex-nihilo. Jesus, in particular, as the Word of God is ultimately not a book. He is a person of the Trinity with whom we can come into relationship. The Bible, often called the Word of God, is like a light cast upon the true Word, Jesus. It accurately reflects the true Word and as such is “living and active” (Hebrews 4:12-13).

The writer of Hebrews actually seems to have Jesus in mind when he speaks of the Word of God. Yet, many of us refer to these verses solely in reference to the inked words in our contemporary translations of the Bible. If we follow Jesus, should we not expect to be able to accomplish the same marriage of word and action that he does? The simple answer seems to be, ‘No’. But can we learn something from this reality that will address the dilemma?

Read the next installment coming soon…