Art, Politics, Uselessness and Cans of Soup

            After reading Tom Robbins’ essay on the difference between legitimately aesthetic work, and over-praised political usurpations of art, I experienced a prime example of how innocently the latter phenomenon can occur.  Barely had us audience members woken up and entered the conference hall of our weekend retreat, a power-point musical accosted our sleepy eyes with pixilated images of war, hunger, disease and general hatred, ending with a statement against racism, on-queue to the climax of “The Gladiator” score.
            Why, the creator must have wondered, hadn’t the compilation achieved the expected result of leading its emoted viewers, faintly sniffing and holding each other in consolation, to gird up their loins for a near-approaching revolution?  The reason that such work was even presented, Robbins would argue, is because the effort was legitimized by the beneficent cause behind it, and despite its ineffective aesthetics, was uncontested in the screening room.  He says in What Is Art?:  “Socio-political statements, however laudable, however crucial, can cause the less sophisticated viewer to overlook the fact that the art delivering those statements is often inept, derivative, and trite.  When we accept bad art because it’s good politics, we’re killing the swan to feed the chickens.”
            An interesting question remains, as to why exactly that particular slideshow was unsuccessful not only as a piece of artwork, but as an agent of social change.  Whereas Robbins writes that art is defined by its right to be useless, and that socially significant art is praiseworthy only if it also satisfies aesthetically, I would argue for a deeper connection.  He is right in protesting the idea “hey, man, everything is art,” although he would not likely dispute this one:  everything is affected by art.  A beautiful film will inspire transformation, whether in realms social, political, personal, humorous, artistic, scientific, global or local.  An ugly film (especially when shown at 9:00 in the morning) will inspire impatience to devote any time to transform any or all of those realms.  There seems to be a direct relationship between what is aesthetically effective, and its effects, in turn, politically.  Therefore, political art is only as effective as it is aesthetic.
            Robbins seems adverse to the idea of didactic films, when he says that “we may praise a piece for its cultural insights, for the progressive statement it makes and the courageous stand it takes, but to honor it as ‘art’ when its aesthetic impact is not its dominant feature is to fall into a philistine trap of shoddy semantics and false emphasis.” This guards us well against work that claims importance because of social relevance, but perhaps does not give full credit to the special craft, when it is used well, of achieving cultural insights, progressive statements, etc, mainly through good writing.  Part of the artistic integrity of a narrative film, for instance, lies in the thorough crafting of words, actions, dialogue, information, so that everything fulfills a purpose in creating the overarching story.  To mention Costa-Gavras’ 1982 film Missing, the Academy-award winning screenplay is well written because the characters’ journey is an emotional and informational bridge for the audience to understand the political situation of Chile during the coup.  If the writer failed to convey the reality of that situation truthfully and effectively, one could say the film failed aesthetically because of an unskilled writer.  A similar example is found in a very different film.  An Injury to One, by Travis Wilkerson is a film with no characters or dialogue, but a wealth of information subtly introduced through historic photographs, abstract and seemingly unrelated footage all conveyed in experimental form.  Wilkerson is a skillful writer because his audience is filled with knowledge about Butte, Montana.  He is a skillful editor because that knowledge is conveyed dramatically with the least melodrama, engagingly without a single gag.  It is still art because the aesthetic is definite, unique, consistent and inventive.  It causes transformation because the artful compositions will remind us of the lynching of Frank Little even in our sleep, even more whenever we think of unionizer’s struggles through history and world-wide.
            Art, well-done, even without political intent can be transformative:  if the audience, after being moved by aesthetic elements, decides that the otherwise “useless” piece bears relevance to their own social issues.  Robbins may look at the immediate utility of non-political art and decide it is merely to be enjoyed as useless, but he cannot predict the effects it will have on a social mind, even if completely unrelated to its subject.  A scientist may marvel at the Sistine Chapel and decide from then on that he is capable, as other humans are of such magnificent acts, to find a cure to a disease, and through such emphasis, years later find it.

 

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