Defining Social Media in Art

I have 1,144 friends. I only talk with about 100 of them, and I’m only friends with about 50 of them, but Facebook reports I have 1,144 friends, so I guess I do.

            We live in a world of constant connection: 24/7 communication is not an option—it is a responsibility. When the guy in front of you at Starbucks looks like Zac Efron, it is your duty to text your best friend, upload a pic to Instagram, and tweet about it using #omgZacEfron’sOrderingACaramelMacchiato. Ten minutes, twelve likes, and a jealous best friend later, you know you have sufficiently made a social contribution.

            It is this way of being and thinking that defines much of my generation. As a product of these social media-infused times, I am both a participant and an observer of the ways in which we communicate and behave online. While I do not believe that technology completely defines my generation, social-media is undoubtedly the notably gene-mutation of our collective generational DNA. Moreover, our over-tweeted, instagramable upbringings have raised us to live on the principles of interdependence and immediate-gratification. It is this shift in life outlook that is causing (or perhaps forcing) artists to reevaluate how they create their work. We see—in this class as well is in our everyday lives—artist utilizing social media to create as well as publicize their art. While I feel there is nothing wrong with this phenomenon, it does pose the question—should artists be tailoring themselves the changing tides of each generation, or creating the waves themselves?

Defining Insanity

Paxil. Xanax. Zoloft. Prosac. We have become a drugged society. Veins that once pumped pure blood are now saturated with chemically-engineered, colorfully-encapsulated, side-effect-laden toxins. Mood stabilizers are the new black of the 21^st century. They serve as yet another attempt to normalize civilization. Although the medication may be a new-age way of thinking, the idea of streamlining societal behavior is an innate aspect of civilization. It is because of this obsession with ‘the normal’ that anomaly and abnormality draw such attention and have the power to create impact.

While walking through the Uffizi the other day, one of our classmates upon hearing the name, “Goya,” immediately exclaimed, “oh, Goya, the one who went insane.” I’m not particularly knowledgeable about the specifics of Goya’s life, but the one thing that every scholar, author, and professor seems to agree on is that he went crazy. How was ‘crazy’ defined in the late 18^th and early 19^th centuries though? Today, he would perhaps just be classified as clinically depressed. It his artistic aberration however that has given breath to his fame. Marcus Aurelius once said "The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane." With this being the growing trend of the 21^st century however, the insane has morphed into normality, and the mundane is seeming just a tad bit crazier every moment. 

Defining the Encyclopedic Palace

“The key to understanding Venetians is rhythm—the rhythm of the lagoon, 

the rhythm of the water, the tides, the waves." - Count Girolamo Marcello.

I slept with Mrs. Dalloway last night.

            At 8:00 a.m. this morning though, my alarm clock shattered the silence. I chose to ignore it and stay in bed. As I stretched and reacquainted myself with my sheets, my comforter, my pillows, I came to something that didn’t belong there—Mrs. Dalloway. Did I really fall asleep reading her? Doesn’t that only happen to kids in bad tween movies? I grabbed the book, aimed for my bedside table, and missed. She made a “thunk” sound as she hit the floor. I felt bad—not bad enough to do anything about it—but still bad. What had Mrs. D. ever done to me? She brought beautiful language into my life. She gave me words that absorbed every aspect of a single moment. She taught me how to write.

I like words. Big words. Small words. Juicy words. Round words. Words that make you grab for your nonexistent pearls and cry out, “Dear God, No!” I just like words. I get them. I’ve always been drawn to beautiful language and the art behind storytelling, so it’s no surprise that my favorite parts of the 2013 Biennale was the curation. The exhibition just flowed seamlessly. I read the show in the context of the Encyclopedic Palace in three main parts: The first part; a beginning in actual dense knowledge of specific subjects—that transition to how we obtain knowledge—and ending with the ultimate question; what are the consequences of knowledge and the ability to instantaneously obtain it?

Brilliantly conceived and elegantly executed. 

Defining Preference

Why not have a bouquet of these?

Why do we prefer?

Sculpture to paining? Blue to red? Life to death?

Perhaps preference is deeply engrained in one’s DNA; perhaps subconsciously programmed by one’s environment; perhaps a product of both.

Regardless, while proclivities may be societally influenced, the urge to claim and even assert one’s own partiality as dominant is an innate aspect of human nature. I firmly believe (however ignorant it may sound) that Michelangelo’s and Leonardo’s arguments regarding the nobility of different artistic mediums stem from their own personal predilections rather than from their conceptions of nobility. Even in class, we were able to see that the proposed question—‘what is the noblest form of art?’—quickly became twisted, morphed, forgotten, and replaced by the question that it is a derivative of—‘which art do you prefer?’

While I do not believe that it is impossible for one to differentiate one’s own propensities from the way one views the world, I feel that it is (understandably) uncommon. It would take more than will power; it would take constant conscious awareness. After all, to some extent, our preferences do define us. It is only natural to view society, politics, art, life through the lenses we have subconsciously created for ourselves. It is infantile to live subjectively and equally untrue to force oneself to live objectively. While we may view art with our own preferences in mind, we must not let our own preconceived notions cloud or distort the art itself.

Defining the Importance of Medium

A basic Hermes Birkin Bag costs $35,000. Give it an alligator exterior—$65,000. Add some diamonds—$90,000. Switch that alligator with saltwater crocodile—$130,000.

Material is everything. Well…branding might play a small factor as well, but, for the sake of argument, let’s just focus on material.

Although I do believe artists are naturally gravitated towards whichever medium they work best in, they also choose medium that corresponds with the idea and tone of their piece. Medium provides a basis for feeling. The same scene depicted with oil paints, watercolors, and charcoal will appear completely differently in each of the representations.

I feel that this week’s lesson gave me something that I had completely missed in my previous art education. Whether art history is taught chronologically or thematically, it generally focuses on an idea or period and then looks at the associated artists and works. I’ve never studied the actual methodology of the art. And while I doubt that the knowledge of fresco-making will ever prove to be very practical in my life, it does definitely help me to better understand and appreciate the works I see.