Tungkol sa napakaraming art/arts

Si Joseph Beuys sa isang performance art noong 1978 na may pamagat na Everyone an artist – On the way to the libertarian form of the social organism [photo pulled from Art - Wikipedia]

ANG specific arts and art practices walang problema sa kanilang mga sarili. Wala naman usually problema sa mga bagay na yan, tungkol sa kanilang pagiging art, until may nagta-tackle sa art as a whole at nagdedeklarang ang isang uri ng art ay art at ang isa ay hindi.

    For instance, pag may nagsasabing painting na may drawing lang ang tunay na art at ang abstract painting ay hindi, o di kaya na ang installation art o bricolage art using found objects ay hindi, dyan nagkakaroon ng problema.

    In fact, kahit sa painting palang marami nang sub-arts, if you will, at may mga nasa mother art o sa isang sub-art nito na hindi nakakaintindi sa isa pang sub-art ng mother art na ito. Ibang practice ang minimal art, halimbawa, and superior minimal art practices were not easy intellectual practices. Of course easy sila sa ignorante. At ang sub-art na minimalism naman, meron ding sub-sub-movements.

Bawat sub-sub-art ng sub-art ng isang art practice ay may sariling lexicon na madaling pagtawanan kung di natin alam ang lexicon na ito at ang concerns nito. Kaya maaari tayong matawa pag may nagmumura sa free jazz na mga practitioners ng psychedelic pop, o mga French cuisine art practitioners na feeling high above creative norimaki art.

    The best way to criticize a product or practice of a sub-sub-sub-art of a sub-sub-art of a sub-art of an artform is to thrash it through its own lexicon. Criticize art punk or avant-garde metal or gothic fashion or Turkish fusion cuisine, for instance, not from the lexicon of grind or glam rock or ramp punk fashion or Thai cuisine, each of which latter sub-sub-sub art practices may know practically nothing about the concerns of those former. [AP-CA]

On the idea of there being real art critics distinct from the mere ass kissers

(a mini-essay inspired by a public Facebook post by artist Kin Misa)

SA ganang akin, ang problema ng art critic, akala niya siya lang ang dapat pinakikinggan tungkol sa art ni Juan. Ang problema ni Juan, gusto niya siya lang ang pinakikinggan dahil art niya raw yun. Ang problema ng art collector na may maraming pera, gusto niyang iparating na siya lang ang may huling salita sa kung aling artwork ni Juan ang superb at aling art ni Pedro ang walang kuwenta.
    Ako ay political critic. Wala akong pakialam sa problema ng ibang political critics tulad ni Tom. Wala rin akong pakialam sa problema ng mga pulitiko tulad ni Dick. Wala rin akong pakialam sa problema ng mga powerbrokers tulad ni Harry na may hawak na mga political pundits at pulitiko na rin.
    Pero, teka. Mali yata ako. Kasi sa mga sinabi kong iyon, di ba't kasasampal ko lang sa mga problema nila? At dahil sinampal ko ang presensiya nila, ibig sabihin, pinoproblema ko pa rin sila!
    Well, paano ka naman tatahimik kung nakikita mo silang tatlo at hindi lamang ang isa?

AND since we mentioned the word political, I'd have to agree that art criticism is indeed politicking, in many senses of the word, depending on how one is politiciking with their art criticism. Presumably, some, if not all, critics have their own agenda.
    It's a given, then, that critics and curators and art theorists do carry these agendas of theirs with them, some not even latently or subtly but in the loudest fashion available to them, and in some cases in cahoots, even, with artists and artists' groups whose considerations for a buying public might come last. It is "the modern conceit," this artmaking and art-seeing within one's politics, and vice versa, shared by everyone at the production end, whether they like it or not.

HAVING said that, the ass kisser critic, being in the act of politicking within their politics of ass-kissing, is simply being an art critic and a politicker at the same time, the way all critics become every time they critique. The only difference is that not all critics own the ass-kissing politics that Tom/Dick/Harry (or whatever their name is) has, even though a nation's critics may 90%-95% be a bunch of ass kissers like Tom/Dick/Harry (or whatever their name is). But that doesn't make the ass-kissing critic a fake critic, the politics of ass-kissing being as real as any ass that is seen. In short, ass-kissing critics are real critics, and we have to acknowledge that they exist and are practicing their politics in the here and now. [AP-CA]

Paano na raw ba ang Philippine art kung walang totoong o masyadong art criticism?

 

OO. PAANO na nga raw ba ang Philippine art kung walang umuusbong na seryosong art criticism o art historical writing tungkol dito? Magiging craft na lang ba at trendy commodities tulad ng mga bagong toys na pang-Happy Meal sa McDonald's? Ironic dahil ang dating itinuturing na skill lamang ng pagluluto ng Pinoy food ay tinuturing nang art ngayon!
    Pero, you see, ang art critic, kasama yan sa isang tradisyon o movement. Minsan pa nga siya ang nagsisimula ng isang description ng isang phenomenon kung saan hindi alam ng mga artists mentioned na tila meron nga silang pagkakapareho ng reaksyon sa isang bagay o previous phenomenon. Ibig sabihin, lalabas ang pagiging art critic ng art critic kung kasama ang dugo njiya dun sa kanyang chinachampion. Mapapansin natin halimbawa na bawat critic sa Artforum ay may hilig-to-write-about at hindi magsusulat tungkol sa ibang art. Kumbaga, fan din siya. Ang Artforum mismo ay isang publication na may kinikilingang mga art trends, may sariling mga chinachampion, in the same sense na ang NME o ang Rolling Stone ay may kanya-kanyang chinachampion o kinikilingang music trends. In that reality's sense, criticism does not only carry on as a career, it carries on as a missionary post from someone na gustong makipagpatayan in defense of a trend or movement they feel they have to champion. In the Philippines kasi, ang mga nagchachampion ng persona or image trends ay mga dealers, at kumukuha na lang sila ng writers na maaaring wala namang simpatya doon sa isusulat nila. Yun ang problema, pag ang tastemaking ay di nanggagaling sa isang art critic-cum-fan, kaya nananatili lamang unwritten (or written as PR blurbs).
    So, ano ang puwedeng gawin ng art world laban sa ganitong kakulangan? Sa tingin ko simple lang. Ang artist mismo ang lalabas upang magpaliwanag sa kung saang tradisyon siya nanggagaling, ano ang kanyang direksyon, ano ang mga bagay na wala siyang pakialam. Sa ilang mga galleries sa ibang bansa, ang exhibition catalogue ay hindi lang listahan ng mga pieces na may intro ng isang hired hack, madalas narito rin ang mga gustong sabihin ng artist, in their own words, in their language, in their own style of writing, whether in little quotations o in verse. Kung kayang magsulat ng stylish na thesis ang isang pagraduate pa lang na painting student, kaya ng established artists na magdisenyo ng kanilang sariling catalogue o guide para sa kanilang art, hindi lang in visual terms kundi also in terms of textual insistence.
    Pero qualified ba ang artist na maging sarili niyang "critic" o "art historian"? Bakit hindi? Kung ang mga grunge na banda noong 1990s ay may tapang na magsabi sa harap ng kamera na gusto nilang iwasan ang kalokohan at cliches ng nagdaang glam rock both in their daily lives and in their music art, bakit hindi kaya ng isang Pinoy artist na sabihin kung ano ang kanyang gustong i-explore sa bago niyang koleksyon at ano ang gusto niyang iwasan? Of course ginagawa na ito ng ilan sa ating mga artists, minsan pa nga in words na hindi ko maintindihan. Pero ang importante kasi sa ngayon ay maipaliwanag ng artist ang kaniyang presence o modest significance. Kung sa writing ang sabi ay "don't write if you have nothing to write about," then sa painting maaaring ganun din: don't paint if you have nothing to say to the tradition you belong to (as, anyway, even a mere tribute to somebody else's art is already saying something, one only has to articulate it or visually clarify it). Kung ang isang drummer ay kayang magsabing kinombine niya ang drumming style ni Neil Peart sa comping patterns ng jazz para sa sarili niyang drum-based compositions, kaya rin ng isang artist na sabihin kung ano ang ginagawa niya sa bago niyang mga piyesa o exhibit. Sa ganitong paraan, oo't hindi nga natin masasabi na siya'y nagiging art critic na, pero siya'y nagiging art historian ng genre niya in lieu of an absence of art historians who presently are either nowhere to be found, too busy doing other things, or simply don't seem to give a crap. Sino pa nga ba ang tutulong sa artist kundi ang sarili niya? Sino ang tutulong sa mga araw na ito sa mga tulad nating ayaw mawala ang sense for art history and tradition/s kundi ang mga sarili natin? [P-CA]

Why Are We Writers Shallow?: A Voltairean Exploration

My friends' Facebook walls have been calling everybody's attention to F. Sionil Jose's quoting of a well-loved former senator in his latest column essay on Philstar.com titled "Why we are shallow". Okay, the essay has my attention, and now---having nothing better to do---I'd like to offer my own conjectures regarding what's behind all this rampant shallowness Jose is talking about.

     But first things first. The idea of Filipino shallowness that visited the novelist-columnist came from a friend of his from another Asian country, an idea which initially floored him. Then, recently while watching a presentation of Asian dances with former Senator Leticia Ramos-Shahani, Jose observed that there was but grudging applause from the audience for the stylized movements of a stately Japanese dance while a near-standing ovation was accorded to the energetic jumping in the Filipino-cum-Vietnamese tinikling. Jose said anyone can learn the tinikling in 10 minutes, and Senator Shahani was supposed to have asked, "Why are we so shallow?"

Well, let me see, we have been shallow for centuries.

     It was probably one of the things the Japanese hated us for, the reason perhaps why they treated us and our women like the Chinese during World War II, because we couldn't understand their dances which they didn't have the time to elucidate on for our modest collective comprehension. Meanwhile, our long-standing enthusiasm for the tinikling only demonstrated this alleged shallowness, because---as Senator Shahani would know---we as audiences often approach the dance with merely the eye of tourists, laughing and clapping only at the dancers' meager feat of avoiding the bamboos. Senator Shahani, being a Sorbonne University Doctor in Philosophy in Comparative Literature, would know that there is more to the dance than what my favorite cooking television personality could drunkenly and metaphysically say about it in the Vietnam episode of Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations Season One. There is definitely something about the rich presence of thick bamboos in this feasting dance, as well as about the allusion to the tikling bird of the rallidae species and the tikling farm traps made of bamboo, the erotic and taxing accelerando rhythm in the fourth quarter of the dance, its relation to Philippine martial arts and tribal war dances, its possible role in Leyte among Bankaw's people prior to the Bankaw Revolt. However, we are not all trained to be dance historians, much less as semioticians, to ever get---or want---anything more than the fun we're already getting from the tinikling at face value. In fact, we didn't all have that privilege of getting to know anything about our own dances, much less the Odori, and so we remain shallow.

     As Jose's foreign friend would say, this shallowness is manifest even in our major papers. I'd read the Philippine Star, for instance, and what would I get? Apart from F. Sionil Jose's column, there's practically nothing to read in there except the comic strips, the classifieds for preferably female applicants, and the boring crosswords and sudokus. It's a total waste of recycled paper. Another Star columnist, the poet and novelist Alfred Yuson, was probably wryly acknowledging this shallowness in his newspaper after he was indirectly asked for his opinion about Jose's column and assumptions: "Shallow shallow me. Shallow me wherever you may be... tra-la-la...," he said.

Our universities and colleges are all to blame for this epidemic of shallowness.

     Instead of putting much emphasis on the culture of Late Antiquity, they spend too much time teaching our preppies everything about the binary structures of HTTP cookies used to hack the CIA headquarters or eBay with, or the way Florence Nightingale would assist a doctor performing a burn debridement or escharotomy, which all totally mean nothing to either Heraclius or Phocas. Look at the Hindus, for instance, even while often high on bhang lassi their continuity with their past would be retained through the centuries, so that even today you can see sacred cows still plowing their own dung on the cobblestones of Jaisalmer Fort. And the Buddhists of Thailand---who up to today can perform sacrifices of not dirtying one's soul with the mud of modern economics, relying solely for their food on the age-old charity of a modern-day profiteer with a store. So why, oh why, don't our universities and colleges bring back all that Greek that up to now is being studied in Greece, or all that Latin that up to now is still being studied at Pontificio Seminario Vaticano, for God's sake?

     The classics teach us wisdom. The Web teaches us nothing but wiki-knowledges about protons and American Idol winners. Thus the arrogance of TV personalities who have been fed these wiki-knowledges by their scriptwriters, mistaking these bits for wisdom. The classics' wisdom lead us to Western culture and all its metanarratives of superiority over tribal wisdom, which we---if we could only immerse ourselves in these holy waters---could in fact use to build our own counter-reifications.

     This failure of ours to appropriate the wisdom of Western culture has in fact led us to a level of ignorant arrogance, a broadcaster's type of arrogance, that is unable to see the role each of us is playing in the system, be it the system of government or the system of citizenship. All we can do now, therefore, is lean on the luxury of slogans and abstractions and sweeping views that are averse to the devils in the details. Thus the vicious cycle of crab-criticalities that are, being crab-criticalities, by themselves averse to criticalities. We thus end up hurling invectives at each other, calling each other stupid and ignorant and shallow, while each is without a desire for the hard task of discoursing further on rococo details of qualifying truth (the way either Michelangelo or Michel Foucault would feel happy about) regarding the fisherman's son's inability to comprehend the basics of TESDA's electrician's course or his ability to call Mike Enriquez's confused conservative or progressivist politics crap.

     We have chosen to be Westernized and yet not Westernized enough. Our embrace of democracy fails Karl Popper's dictum of owning likewise the responsibility of accepting "obsolescence" when it comes in an open society. We hold on to our animist faith concerning the divinity of our persons assigned seats of authority, be it as government authorities or culture authorities, and own nothing but a confirmation bias in favor of our ability to call anyone and everyone shallow. Western culture, if only we studied it well, would have taught us the rigors of rationalism, so that instead of sweeping conclusions regarding ourselves we could slowly tackle each man's behavior the way Spinoza tackled God, as an individual expression in a dynamic equation. Because of this inability, we have been reduced to behave like writers pretending to be sociologists, with nothing but the rhetoric of fallacies that we mistake for social science. We are thus rendered shallow---unable to see who we are, those mere writers, and the limits to what we can do.

     And if only we had Romanized ourselves well, the way South Korea has Americanized itself well, we would have armed ourselves with the capacity to hurl crockery at the quackery of Restorationist and evangelical voices on TV. If we had been Romanized enough, we would see---beyond Latin-American liberation theology---the superiority of Vatican to these discards of Calvinism and the Great Awakening. Look at South Korea, its perfect Americanization has shaped the prosperity theology of the Yoido Full Gospel Church. Meanwhile, our Catholicism is not as strong as the death threats of an Opus Dei follower on the artist Mideo Cruz in our supposedly open-ended society.

Thus, we are rendered shallow.

     And so we fail to see the shallowness of media as product of the subconscious plan of the local Illuminati to keep the status quo, wherein education remains the privilege of the post-Gomburza children of former caciques and public education is the shame hurled on the laps of Jesus' working class.

     We are rendered shallow. We can't use our pens to expose the real identities of the jokers on morning radio who are on a secret mission to destroy the seeds of social liberalism in the service of network-owning bosses with holding companies with interests in the fuits of conservative elitism.

     We are now eternally shallow. We can only choose to ignore the fact that all that entertainment fodder is what goes on in the drawing boards of corporate profiteering and, in surrender, we proceed to ourselves write shallow exegeses about our own shallowness, contributing in effect to the perpetuation of such profit-motivated mass dumbing.

     We: you, with me, are forever shallow. So we can only spit on our neighbors who can't understand our essays in English. We are totally shallow. We can only complain about their Tagalog-based intellectual incapacities deriving from our missionary and patronizing teaching-in-English failures. We are shallow. We can only ignore the fact that we are not Belgium divided into a French-speaking territory and a Dutch-speaking territory but Belgium divided into several languages inside our every territory and spot. We are shallow. We can only close our ears to the fact that linguistic differences are often also class differences. We are shallow. We can only close our eyes to the reality that the lower class aspires to become the middle class and upper class, and the upper middle class and upper class aspire to become Americans and Europeans.

     We are, safe to say now, shallow, and so choose not to write about the cost of sending our kids to schools that teach how to read, about the price of books, the language of books, the stupid marketing and distribution of books, the inaccessibility of books, the technological variations on the concept book.

     We are shallow. We continue to debate on the virtue of books, hoping to find enlightenment for everyone, while the sidewalk downstairs aims for the depths of our garbage, deeply hoping to find bread. [END]

UPDATE:On September 26, 2011, Jose uploaded a new Philstar.com column piece titled "A reply to you out there who disagree with me": click here to read.