Notes Towards An Understanding Of Humanity In Art
Oh boy! Art talk! That'll sure be fun!
Okay, before you all go scampering off to whatever unpretentious, beLOLcatted fluffblog is next on your blogroll, let me at least tell you my definition of the word "art".
Wait, come back. I promise this is going somewhere.
*suddenly gasses everyone reading this with knockout gas, ties them all to chairs, puts duct tape over their mouths, waits for them to wake up*
Oh, good, you're awake! Now then...
Art, to me, is anything created with an intent above and beyond pure necessity. An imperfect definition, like all definitions of art, but it's the least limiting one I can think of that's also still definitive in some way. Even a plate of food can be art, but it must be prepared in service of a higher ideal than pure survival, such as beauty or craftsmanship.
(And yes, craftsmanship is an artistic instinct; that it is devalued by the distinction between "arts and crafts", to use just one example, is irrelevant, and it says more about the jerks who preserve the distinction than it does about craftsmanship's inherent value.)
On the other hand, a shack with four walls and a roof built solely so its occupant won't freeze to death is not art. It could accidentally be a very nice-looking little hovel, but it is still designed to keep out the elements and nothing more.
And, so we're entirely clear, there can be good art and bad art. Michael Bay makes bad films (and I'm going to use the example of films throughout this piece, because it's the example I think the most people are conversant in, but rest assured I'm talking about all art), but they fit my definition of art, because they are created with the express intent to entertain. They are, in my opinion, bad art, because bad art fails at its stated purpose, and his movies fail to entertain me, but they are nevertheless art.
So, with that out of the way, what do I look for above and beyond anything else in a work of art?
Not technical skill, though that's certainly nice. Not ambition, though that's great when it works. Not a point, though many of my favorite works of art do have a cogent and explicit point. Not even quality, though that's a very close second. But the quality I prize above all else in the work of others, and the one I strive eternally to imbue in my own work, is humanity.
Now, that's my word; you might have a different word for the same concept. But "humanity" is the closest thing to a definitive word for the quality I can think of (that doesn't also sound cheesy and overblown in the way that, say, "soul" does).
Humanity is a hard thing to describe. It doesn't guarantee that a work of art will be successful overall; I can think of several movies off the top of my head that are both pretty terrible and full of humanity, and I can likewise think of movies I adore which possess very little of it. It doesn't mean optimism or warmth; noir films are low on both, but they're bursting with humanity. It doesn't even necessarily imply realism; Wes Anderson makes weird little movies set on his own meticulously constructed dollhouse-earth, and his dialogue is as often unrealistically erudite and clever as it is naturalistic, but his works exude humanity.
So what the hell is it, then?
Well, brace yourself, 'cause I'm about to get annoyingly heady.
Humanity is... well, it's a certain special strain of Truth. It's a taste of the Real. Not reality, mind you, but the Real. The Real is not reality; it's Truth. And Truth is not the truth. The truth is factual. Capital-T Truth is not. Fiction is the only place for Truth, because fiction doesn't require evidence or objectivity. Truth is subjective, and the truth is objective. But Truth is not exclusive to one person, either. Truth resonates. I'm not sure I'd go so far as to say it resonates universally, but it resonates widely enough to have an impact. Truth is the shock of recognition.
And humanity is a certain type of Truth. Humanity is a sort of shock of recognition, but it is the shock of recognition of yourself, or of a version of yourself, or of a shared quality between the artist and the viewer. It is the knowing wink the artist gives to those affected by his or her work, except it is within the work itself. It is the artist saying, "You are not alone."
And even as I write that, it doesn't quite explain what humanity is. It sounds like I'm looking for myself in others when I look for humanity, and that's not it, really.
Confused yet? I know I am.
But this is a "Notes Towards", not the thing to which the notes are pointing, so I think I'm allowed a little confusion. At the very least, my thinking on the subject feels somewhat clearer than it did, so that's progress.
Anyway. Try to think about this a bit, willya? For me?
