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In Response to Readings on Craftsmanship

               Something came up in a conversation in class we had the other day about repetition and mastery of skill in artwork. That to produce something of quality, it takes a lot of practice and mastery of skill and of the craft. Yet at the same time, a lot of art is valued for ingenuity and conceptual uniqueness—being different than the rest. So how can something great and valuable be simultaneously well-crafted from mastered skill and one-of-a-kind?

              This week’s readings were able to address these questions. In the publication corresponding to 10000 Hours. On Craftsmanship, mastery and failure in art, it is mentioned that in order to produce something unique, it first require s prior expertise in a certain craft. Only then can one be free to make something conceptually more than that.

              But in modern times, as people begin to value more technological devices, as mass production becomes the standard means of production for most everyday objects, and as fine arts are revered, craftsmanship does not seem to have as much of a role in society as it once had. Interestingly enough, though, the decline of craft seems to also be the very reason for its rise. As the 10000 Hours reading articulates, “…craftwork is the other, the alien. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why precisely in art there is a renewed focus on craftwork. Indeed, art has always been interested in the unusual and everything that deviates from the norm.” In other words, art is becoming interested in craft because craft is not especially popular anymore.

If we look at craft’s specific role in art, we can start a conversation with Valerie Oliver’s Craft Out of Action. Oliver discusses the role that craft is assuming in art. She states that craft can be a performance art. Returning to the 10000 Hours reading, Richard Sennett states that “Craftwork means wanting to do something well for its own sake, not because you are pursuing the goal of raking in a lot of money.” Combining Oliver and Sennett’s ideas, we can begin to infer that the performance aspect of craft might derive value from the fact that the salient nature of craft is simply the methodology and practice of crafting.

These idea reminded me of a book I read by Paul Bloomfield called The Virtues of Happiness: A Theory of the Good Life. At one point, Bloomfield claims that in striving to reach an end, the means to reach the end can actually become the end itself—that the means can be the source of happiness. If applied in the context of craft, the very act of creating for the sake of making things is the more valuable than the end result. This echoes Richard Sennett’s quote above, and also provides more intuition as to why craft is associated with performance art.

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In Response to “Beyond Use Value”

I’m currently reading Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged for another class that I am in, and I couldn’t help but see the parallels between the novel and the excerpt we read from Jean Baudrillard. One of the most prominent themes in Atlas Shrugged is that in the treatment of materials, it is most moral for an individual to be creative and productive—using the mind to invent new things. Anybody who seeks only to exploit the thinkers for their products, expecting to return nothing to the creators, are framed to have an evil moral code. This might be a dramatization of Baudrillard’s points, but the similarities are still present.

In contrast to the heroes of Atlas Shrugged, the inventors and makers, Rand also tells the story of the morally depraved looters with the slogan, “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.” And as we saw in this week’s reading, Baudrillard also refers to the ideal(ist) political economy which followed the same line “to each according to his needs.”

Though the context of these two quotes differs, there were still many similarities between Rand and Baudrillard’s thoughts. In a profound claim, Baudrillard states,

“Man is not so much himself as the most beautiful of these functional and servile objects…In the process of satisfaction, he valorizes and makes fruitful his own potentialities for pleasure; he ‘realizes’ and manages, to the best of his ability, his own ‘faculty’ of pleasure, treated literally like a productive force. Isn’t this what all of humanist ethics is based on – the ‘proper use’ of oneself?”

In other words, there is something amazing in the way that an individual is able to use oneself—as an object to be used to serve a purpose—to create and make new objects and things. The fact that a human can be abstracted to utility highlights one of the most profound characteristics of our species: our ability to take advantage of our potential for pleasure.

Like the virtuous heroes of Atlas Shrugged who submit to their utility and harness their potential to create, the individuals Baudrillard describes are the hope for “a resurgence beyond the market economy…in the glorious autonomy of a man’s simple relation to his work and his products.”

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A Response to Rematerialization of the Void

              Something that fascinated me about these readings were the ways in which nothingness could effectively be valued as a something-ness. In the passage, “Dust,” the infinitesimal yet ubiquitous nature of dust was explored in a very thought-provoking way. Dust is everywhere, yet it can easily be ignored as our sight overlooks the particles in the air. Similarly, it would be impossible to reach out and cradle a dust particle in our hands, for what is there to feel? But there is a point in which the sheer volume of millions of particles of dust, though limited as an individual presence, can amount to be something unavoidable. That the very colors in our sky are caused by the dust in the air—that dust can create such a strong sense of being, though it isn’t immediately noticed on its own. In a way, our very understanding of dust as the particle that can be composed of any number of materials, is a more “something-ness” object than the near nothingness of a single, physical particle. It is as though nothing can amount to something, and hence nothingness can be categorized and valued in many different ways.

              I use the term nothingness loosely—mainly implying that the subject of “nothing” isn’t appreciable in the tangible world. However, “nothing” can acquire “something-ness” in a conceptual sphere, or even in an ephemeral manifestation like the sunset in the sky.

              Tino Sehgal illuminated ways in which “nothingness” could be turned into “something-ness” in his art. He uses the human body in many of his pieces, which are dynamic and an in-the-moment experience. He says that he doesn’t want any picture or video reproductions of his works because his works are meant to be experienced in person. They should not need to be turned into a physical object in order to be valued—they aren’t a physical object to begin with. To me, Sehgal seems to be emphasizing the point that his works operate in a non-tangible sphere of human interaction and encounter, and though he may physically be producing a “nothing” object, his works still have a “something” value. That there are many other things of importance and value that aren’t necessarily grounded in a physical object—and that they don’t need to be in order for the mind to grapple with them. In fact, I think that it could be even more enriching to appreciate things in solely a visceral and metaphysical way.

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A Response to Nicolás Guagnini

Admittedly, in reading a many of the excerpts from the Formless Blob and Trashflows and Bodies That Matter chapters from Petra Lange-Berndt’s Materiality, I was left with a somewhat icky feeling. Discussions of art made from bodily secretions didn’t bring pleasant imagery to my mind, and this large focus on the abject was a little bit unsettling. This discomfort that I experienced is probably something that I share with many other people, and I think it is the reason for having a discussion about these bodily materials. In a weird way, my desire to avoid discussion of the abject is what makes the discussion of the abject so interesting.

I was particularly drawn to Nicolás Guagnini’s work titled “Fetishism/Hoarding/Entropy.” One passage reads, “Body secretions of humans and animals… stains and stenches. Pest infestation is commonplace in hoarding quarters, as cleaning is impossible. The possibility of a ravaging fire increases over time…Hoarders turn to candles for light and gas burners for heat, inches from swaying towers of cherished trash. The house of the hoarder burns down with all its possessions inside, is boarded up, or meets condemnation.”

…That’s really quite gross. In some ways, I was more disgusted by this passage on hoarding than any of the others regarding the human body. And I’m intrigued by why this might be the case. When we think about what Guagnini is writing in this excerpt, he is arguing that all of the hoarder’s objects just become some part of a mass. The actual use and character of the commodity gets lost as the object gets removed from the typical trade and use of goods. The objects are defaced of their implied existence, and are left to mix amidst an unbearable mass of others, similar. As quoted above, the sheer size of the hoarder’s loot prevents the hoarder’s from keeping clean. In consequence, human stench and decay gets mixed into the amalgamation of unwanted, yet so desired, unnamed things. The thought of this makes me shudder. Like Mike Kelley mentions in “The Aesthetics of Ufology,” slimy bodily fluids are confusing because they are both part of the body, and detached from the body. In a similar way, these objects are recognized for what they once were, but are also no longer used as was intended. Thus, the hoarder’s house is really a mass platform of objects and human decay that lie on this uncanny boarder between its original form and its current lack of assignment. It is a massive abyss of existential uncertainty, and it is discomforting.

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A Response to Richard Sennett’s The Craftsman- Chapter One

In providing an example for a way in which the craftsman’s head and hand are now divided, Richard Sennett uses the example of computer-aided design (CAD) software in chapter one of The Craftsman. Although I can understand the points that Sennett is making, as an engineer, I feel compelled to put in a few words in defense of CAD.

To first elaborate on his argument, Sennett seems to be claiming that sometimes the use of CAD software can distance the craftsman from the work. In utilizing all of the advanced functions of the software to pre-plan every detail of an architectural design, little to no room is left for spontaneous creativity during the actual construction of the work. Problems that may only be realized on the ground floor when the object is being built, will be overlooked. Romantic ideas of the way in which the structure will be used might not actually comply with reality. Sennett here gives the example of cafés designed with a lot of outdoor seating in Georgia for use during the summer, but because the heat is too much, rarely does anybody actually use these seats outside. Sennett claims that actually physically drawing, and redrawing, the blueprints and designs of a structure allows the craftsman to spend more time thinking deeply about the practical application of the final work. There is room for change to be made at every step of the process, and there is space for creativity to continue to thrive even after a blueprint has been hand drawn. Thus, CAD can detach a craftsman from the physical work, and can limit the creative spontaneity which would otherwise exist during construction of the building.

Sennett later on states that he is not arguing that software and technology are bad. Rather, CAD serves as an example of how “people may let the machines do [the] learning, the person serving as a passive witness to and consumer of expanding competence, not participating in it.” I completely agree with this point. However, I want to play Devil’s advocate in defense of CAD because I also see a positive argument for the software that Sennett does not address.

Sennett seems to be arguing from the perspective of an architect, but I want to take the perspective of an engineer. As an engineer, it is in some ways a moral responsibility to ensure to the best of our abilities that an architecture that we help construct, does not crumble. In this respect, a possible meaning of being a craftsman to an engineer could be: engaging with a design to account for all possible modes of failure. A part of this process is definitely embedded in more traditional practices such as hand drawing and hand analyzing diagrams. However, other parts of the craft can entail using CAD software to simulate different internal stress or environmental conditions that the structure may encounter during use. In fact, I would argue that even though an engineer should commit to prescribed schedule of analyzing the structure, the engineer should also be on the lookout for any anomalous behavior of the structure during analysis. This requires some room for unexpected malfunctions that must be given proper attention, or spontaneous construction, as Sennett might say. The engineer is constantly finding fail modes, analyzing these points, and developing a countermeasure against them. CAD software is often only there to provide more accurate results with less room for error, or to simulate some conditions that cannot be handled analytically. With CAD software, there are also so many more options for simulations, so the engineer needs to be even more conscious of the actual conditions that the structure could face in selecting modes to simulate. Thus, an engineer needs to be highly engaged with the software, and mindful at every point in time, to ensure that nothing has been overlooked. Hence, in contrast to Sennett’s example, I think that CAD can actually be used as an example of improved craftsmanship.

In all honesty, I truly think that the problem of the troubled craftsman has more to do with the pressure of society for a capitalist market rather than a manifestation of technological advancements. I don’t think that Sennett was arguing the latter by bringing up the CAD example (in fact, Sennett makes it clear that he isn’t). However, I just want to make a clear distinction between the two. I believe that if we were to examine the effects of any technological advancement, we could find cases in which it both hindered craftsmanship and enhanced craftsmanship. To me, what it really comes down to is the way in which the individual responds to the machine, and I think that this response is largely influenced by the demands imposed by a societal context.

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Third floor of Honnold-Mudd Library- just outside The Asian Library

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A Response to Materiality [”Follow the Materials” and “The Living Fire of Labour”]

In Materiality, Petra Lange-Berndt surveys artists and authors about their ideas of materiality in contemporary art. Each of the excerpts seemed to address different themes and each excerpt expressed ideas by exploring different mediums of art.

One of the earlier excerpts that stood out to me was the conversation between James Putnam and Antony Gormley. Antony Gormley explains that he likes to work with clay that he digs from the earth. He seems to have found a raw, very natural and simultaneously very human connection to the material of clay. Gormley says, “I want it to be earth. I am very keen on the colour—the redness of the clay being something to do with the iron in the earth, which is also the iron in our blood, which somehow makes a connection between flesh and planet” (32). I am caught on Gormley’s mention of iron being in both the earth and the blood. I begin to wonder about the way in which artists manipulate clay to create forms from their imagination, yet the artists are, in a way, a physical part of the clay that they are shaping. These thoughts entertain a strange sort of cyclic and intertwined concept between the materiality of the clay and the conceptual creator forming it. The very nature of shaping Gormley’s clay leads my mind to think about the plasticity of wax that Georges Didi-Huberman describes. Unlike clay, wax has a multitude of different forms and the very fact that it is, in a way, indefinable is its very materiality.

In the next chapter, Esther Leslie begins by talking about liquid crystals in “Volatile, Liquid, Crystal.” The liquid crystal exists in a state of both solid and liquid at a point of melting or freezing between two phases. Leslie then likens the phases to social thought, asking, “What if a mode of thought—a volatile way of thinking—were in intimate connection with volatile phases of matter?” (63). Leslie discusses ideas about the flow of thought and capitalism in society, as well as the freeze of it in comparison with the liquid crystals. I really like the very tangible imagery that Leslie uses to express her Marxist questions. They bring a liveliness to thought, and also draw attention to the deep materiality of objects which can open up new conversations.

I am curious about objects, and the conceptual tensile forces being imposed on the objects that can accentuate their material properties or emphasize their projected human value/use. There is room for a lot of dialogue, and my mind is just beginning to understand that materials are complex—beyond their macroscopic behavior in an environment, and beyond their microscopic physical and chemical properties— the understanding of materials in a sphere of conscious dialogue is vast and I am interested in exploring more of its complexities.

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Discussion Questions for This Week

How do ideas from the Marx readings relate to some of the ideas in the Materiality reading?

In what way do materials constrain an artist? In what way can they free an artist?

Does the physical state of a material dictate how it will be used in art? What role does an artist have to change or not change these forms?

What do you think the "dematerialization of art" means, and how do you think different artists and authors express their beliefs in their excerpts?

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A Response to Karl Marx

In “Private Property and Communism,” Karl Marx makes a distinction between labor and capitalism. He introduces the two ideas as an ostensibly contradicting duo through which he explains the cyclic dependency of the two. Marx initially defines labor to be the subjective sense of private property and capitalism to be the objective labor as exclusion of labor. In other words, Marx is suggesting that labor is the human connection to the creation of a possession—or private property—whereas capitalism is the means through which products enter a market such that the laborer—and hence, humanness—is excluded from the product. As one can see, labor and capitalism seem to be near opposite in definition. Yet from what I understand, Marx claims that both are dependent on one another and together form what we know as private property. This assertion allows room for a longer discussion to ensue about the nature of Communism and the ways in which it is relevant to society. In short, Marx argues that our actions in existence impact and change contemporary ideas and societal culture; likewise, we are influenced by our natural desires and needs. As our innate human needs affect the external natural world around us, the natural world around us is also affecting our human needs. It’s a somewhat cyclic dependency that Marx ties back to labor and capitalism. To be quite frank, I’m not sure I completely understand all of the connections that Marx is making. However, he makes the point that humans strongly interact with society based on our natural needs. Thus, people should strive for unity rather than disparate and more private lifestyles in a capitalist society. Hence, Marx suggests we can take to a unity in Communism.

In “The Commodity,” Marx focuses on the definition of the commodity. He claims that we can measure the value of a commodity based on use-value and exchange-value. Use-value depends on the basic function and necessity of an object, independent of other aesthetic or hierarchal factors. Exchange-value depends on the value of a commodity relative to other commodities and is measured by the amount and intensity of labor that went into making the product.

Looking at both articles together, I am drawn to the reoccurring theme of labor and the dependency of a product and action within a society. It seems like Marx is saying that everything we produce should be a contribution to society because humans are connected to the world through their creations and to the people using their creations. Thus, it is important to contribute to this dynamic flow of society that we exist and grow in. This idea includes laboring to produce products with use-value that will inherently have exchange-value through production. Labor, thus, is an abstract way to think about defining a role in society by contributing to the exchange of commodities.

Then I wonder about the artists who might make things that don’t have the use-value that Marx described. Based on “The Commodity,” it seems like a non-functioning art work might have no use-value, and thus an artist’s labor may not be valued in a Marxist society. However, based on “Private Property and Communism,” I am intrigued by the notion that art can be very relevant in a social sphere. In other words, I see the labor of art to be both valueless in society but also quite important to society depending on which Marx article I am considering. Yet as I begin to think about contemporary artists who use the labor of others to create works, I wonder if the labor of the workers possess both use-value to the artist as well as relevant influence in a societal context. From this perspective, could art be an ideal form in a Marxist society, even if the artist had no hand in the work? Or is the artist an antithesis to a Marxist world because the artist can take an object with use-value, and through backwards labor, strip the use-value by changing the context of the object? There seem to be many different kinds of art and art movements, so is it even possible to decipher what Marx thinks about art as a whole? Is it even reasonable to think that art could fit within a Marxist society if, like John Roberts suggests, art is a negation of its own definition and can hence negate any identification as a link to Marx?

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A Response to John Roberts

John Roberts introduces an interesting relationship between the publication of “Art After Deskilling” in 2010, and “Temporality, Critique, and the Vessel Tradition: Bernard Leach and Marcel Duchamp” in 2013. Each article individually presents intriguing content. Yet a further examination of the subtleties in each argument brings to light similar ideas and details that I am interested in piecing out.

In “Art After Deskilling,” Roberts argues that the very identity of art is a history of negating its own identity. He tracks the traditional definition of an artist’s technical skill as a premodern mimetic painter, through a shift from painting to physical objects, and into the labor force where art is eventually redefined as a perpetuation of conceptual ideas. Although art is now very conceptual, it is still not considered a science nor a philosophy. Art simply cannot be assimilated into any type of preexisting culture of labor or academia, because the history through which art has revolutionized into its contemporary state is based on the foundation of negation. In order for art to be art, it cannot simply fit in, it must instead continue to challenge its very meaning and role in the social and academic sphere. Art, itself, is a resistance—a negation of its own history and identity.

In “Temporality, Critique, and the Vessel Tradition: Bernard Leach and Marcel Duchamp,” Roberts analyzes the differences between Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain and Bernard Leach’s idea of vessel making. Roberts argues that in the long run, the move to modernity made with the Fountain made a more lasting impression than Leach’s aim of reinvigorating traditional vessel making in a contemporary context. Duchamp’s Fountain enforced a continuity between the traditional demands of the art salon and the capitalist-actuated modern art realm. Since the Fountain is a factory produced ceramic vessel, it is at the same time a part of a long lineage of vessel making (e.g. pottery) and an acknowledgement of the capitalist transition to mass produced products. Yet the very fact that the Fountain was a urinal, a factory produced plumbing vessel, can itself be interpreted as a critique of traditional vessel making. Hence, the continuity encapsulated in the Fountain is the very reason it can successfully negate this traditional history.

Comparing the two articles side-by-side is where even more interesting ideas and questions begin to arise. In his 2010 article, Roberts points out instances in which the definition of an artist’s skill began to change from the technical ability to produce ornate, objective paintings to the intellectual brilliance behind contemporary conceptual art. His argument evidently suggests that artistry underwent a significant shift in definition. Yet in doing so he also seems to say that there was a rift in the art realm, creating a dichotomy which forced artists to choose to either remain a traditional painter or to become a conceptual artist. “Art After Deskilling” thus makes an implicit assumption of this dichotomy caused by the act of either submitting to the traditional art salon or of trying to negate the identity of art. Similarly, Roberts’ 2013 article discusses Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain in relation to traditional vessel pottery and modern readymade sculptures. In this paper, Roberts discusses the vessel as a means of connecting the audience to the producer to the tradition of vessel making, which further indicates that any reference to vessel making (i.e. the Fountain) is tied to a line of history in art. He thus frames the vessel as a medium of analyzing the temporality and continuity between traditional and contemporary art, through which Roberts is able to point out the rift between tradition and modernity. Given all of these considerations, I am still left wondering, can negation cause a discontinuous two-way split if the medium of negation is that which is being negated, or does this mean that the rift was actually continuous?