Clark wrote:
> Later you discuss something more in line with reflection.  In other words
> you view "good" art as art which causes one to question ones own beliefs.
> Yet, I must admit, that I think a canvas of Pollock is good art.  Yet I
> can't quite see how it caused me to reflect as you suggest.  I think the
> same of Beethoven, but I can't think of anything it brought forth in me of
> the sort you suggest.
>
> I think this sense of "good art" tends to place content so far above style
> so as to render art too analytic.  Why can't good art simply be art that
is
> enjoyable?

Clark--
Good art--I'll call it lasting art--is always enjoyable on more than one
level, partly because good art HAS more than one level. (That is only one of
several qualities that I would include in an analysis of what a lasting
artwork is.) Re. your note to Jon on Pollack and reflection, ``good'' art
doesn't necessarily demand reflection, though I think that by its
nature--which is to have a certain density and substance that allows it to
survive the whips and chains of current trendy tastes, whatever they are--it
contains an almost alchemical means to bring the viewer/listener back, again
and again. (Thus, a bit of the trick of how it becomes lasting.) It's
impossible to take in a great Pollack on one viewing, not unlike what Jon
was observing about the Uccello painting. (Not even 50 times may be enough!)
Pollack may not elicit reflection, but his work does elicit a potent sense
of self-consciousness of viewing, transforming the viewing into something it
has never been before in the history of art--a creative viewing, even
viewing as a kind of art form, the way be-bop at the same was making the
listener listen with new ears.
    This is far from placing content above style; in the case of Pollack, it
was insisting on a new manner to re-explore form. As for Beethoven, for me,
reflection is almost all I do when listening to his art, which definitely
falls under something we might call lasting.
But the underlying principle that animates my excitement about art, whether
it's a film, a new music work, an installation or what have you, is how the
work pushes and prods the art form--how it, even, attacks it, assaults it,
slams it to the ground when need be. (Beethoven surely did this in his
time.) A good example is observing the Academic painters of the 19th century
and, their opponents, the ``Salon de Refusees'' painters--the Manets and the
rest. One group stayed within formulae and strict tenets; the other broke
those rules, and thus advanced the art form. Which of those groups do we
look at today?
    And, as you noted in another posting re. ``Clones,'' for critics to
``know their audience,'' it may be useful to note that critics who
championed Manet were far out in front of the audience. Like the artists who
really matter, the critics who are out front really matter. Would you prefer
a critic who ``knows his audience,'' like a Joel Siegel, over a critic with
his own inner compass, like a Stanley Kauffmann? The critic who follows the
crowd is the critic who's lost.
Robert Koehler