Leonardo

A Socialist Critique of Art History in the U.S.A.Author(s): Edmund Burke FeldmanSource: Leonardo, Vol. 11, No. 1 (Winter, 1978), pp. 23-28Published by: The MIT PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1573499 .Accessed: 04/09/2011 12:27

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Leonardo, Vol. 11, pp. 23-28. Pergamon Press 1978. Printed in Great Britain

A SOCIALIST CRITIQUE OF ART

HISTORY IN THE U.S.A.

Edmund Burke Feldman* Abstract-The socialist critique of art history derives from the fact that the making, distribution and appreciation of art in Western societies has become an extension of capitalist economics and that therefore the conditions applying to capitalist modes ofproduction and consumption apply also in the realm of aesthetics. The nature of this new relationship between artists, middlemen and the general public tends to be obscured or ignored by traditional art scholarship that analyzes styles and schools of art mainly in terms of pre-capitalist economics. The history of art as a discipline does not seem capable of dealing with new artistic technologies and new relationships between artists, art consumers and the modern impressarios of mass culture who have no obvious counterparts in European history during the main periods into which art history has been divided. As a result, art historical writing and teaching fail to provide the public with adequate conceptual tools to deal with the present significance of art.

By treating the history of contemporary art much as it treats medieval or Renaissance art, historians continue to emphasize the privileged character of art objects and their status as a precious commodity in a market of fluctuating pecuniary values. Unfortunately, this approach does not come to grips with the character of inexpensively reproduced imagery as it affects the behavior of members of the generalpublic. Furthermore, in their analysis of traditional works of art as models of 'quality', art historians serve the interests of collectors and investors more than the interests of students and of the general public who need to understand the visual sources of their social and spiritual situation.

I. For a concise critique of culture I can do no better than to quote Arnold Hauser's listing of the features of the crisis of Western societies: 'Economic and social disintegration, the mechanisation of life, the reification of culture, the alienation of the individual, the institutionalisation of human relations, the atomisation of functions, and the feeling of general insecurity' [1]. These features are 'symptoms', according to Hauser, which means that they belong to a complex of causes and effects, some of which are immediate and some of which are remote so far as any particular cultural observation is concerned. It would not be difficult to gain a consensus as to the pervasive existence of the traits Hauser cites. Disagreement might arise, however, as to their status as symptoms, their relative weight and their shifting character as cause and effect. From a general socialist perspective, Hauser's symptoms are secondary manifestations of funda- mental economic and social relationships. These manifestations may not be uniform in time and space; still it is recognized that they have a connection with late capitalism that is more thorough and consistent than the connections that might be adduced to such other prominent features of these societies such as automation, technocracy, atheism, cultural relativism, neo-tribalism or bureaucratic centralization.

*Art Historian, Dept. of Art, University of Georgia, Athens, GA 30602. U.S.A. (Reccixcd 19 March 1977).

Strictly speaking, art history does not concern itself with aspects of culture in a broad sense, only with the explication of works of art or of those sequences of works that constitute the output of an artist, or of a school or the typical examples of a style. If the historian is a Christian, a Freudian or a Marxist, that commitment is not supposed to influence the scientific character of his professional work. But it is realized that ideological factors are inevitably present in one's understanding of 'scientific', that is, detached and disinterested scholarship. An understanding of the role of ideology in social striving and class conflict provides art historians with one of their most useful tools, as Quentin Bell points out in a discussion even of (or especially of) the history of costume: 'The history of fashionable dress is tied to the competition between classes, in the first place the emulation of the aristocracy by the bourgeoisie and then the more extended competition which results from the ability of the proletariat to compete with the middle classes .... Implicit in the whole is a system of sartorial morality dependent upon pecuniary standards of value' [2].

Now it is a mistake to assume that socialists possess the only keys to scientific objectivity. What socialists have distinctively is an understanding of the necessarily conditioned and hence ideological character of modes of explanation, regardless of their claims to be free of class or other bias. Conceding their own bias, socialists are perhaps in a better position to recognize the biases of others. The

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recognition of hidden ideological interests notably characterizes Marxist and Freudian approaches to reality; it is this concession that has equipped both schools of thought with their main tools for distinguishing between symptom and cause and recognizing potential sources of subjective distor- tion in the analysis of cultural and psychological phenomena.

The normative character of the socialist analysis of society-its condemnation of personal alienation and the reification of culture-stems directly from its grasp of the tendencies in the capitalist mode of production to abuse many people. The problem grows out of the conversion of work and the products of work into standardized, interchange- able units of exchange in order to improve profits instead of the general welfare. The history of art, to the extent that it is also a history of human work, has access to the same understanding of process and product as they affect artists, workers and users. But to the extent that art history becomes a victim of similar undesirable specialization that afflicts many industrial workers in bourgeois society, it becomes incapable of recognizing that something has 'gone wrong'. That is, the art historical explanation of art objects as the expression of a particular person's genius or temperament or as a sign of that person's affinity for an ineluctable principle of artistic form, simply bypasses the genuinely new historical factors that have entered into the making of art, a term that has to be re-examined in view of recent methods of design, fabrication, marketing and consumption.

The classical Marxist position is that the ownership of the means of production, that is, the basic tools responsible for converting raw materials into useful products, is the ultimate determinant of social, political and cultural relations. Today, however, one witnesses a situation in which the ownership of a special kind of technology, the advanced technology for producing and disse- minating ideas and images, is often a more powerful factor in the determination of social, political and cultural relations than the ownership of land, mineral resources or heavy industry. This is not to say that non-material factors have replaced material ones in the shaping of moral and aesthetic superstructures. It is rather that the mechanization of the process of image-making has introduced a new material factor such that Mumford's 'paleo- technic' instruments of production (since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution) are increasingly obsolete from the standpoint of shaping social consciousness. The production of food and shelter retains its primary importance in those societies where food and shelter are in scarce supply. In affluent societies, however, the abun- dance of food and shelter, or the illusion that these commodities are abundant and fairly distributed, leads to a shift in the locus of social control. That is, the vast increase in the number of persons who enjoy the material benefits of advanced technologi- cal production has led to a vast increase in the number of persons who believe they govern,

collectively, the quality and character of what they consume.

The act of consumption and the quasi-fact of ownership has generated illusions of personal freedom that make it possible to perpetuate the unfreedom of both artists and consumers. It can reasonably be asserted that the personal values and collective attitudes of working class people are molded by television, drama, advertising illus- tration and popular song lyrics more than by office or factory work or membership in churches, labor unions and political parties. The production of images, which is the real source of our notions about our historical situation, has become a material factor that takes precedence over the ownership of the means of production of commodities like food, clothing and shelter. In part this is because mechanization and automation have diminished the routine role of human brains and muscles in the processes of large-scale production. But a more potent factor is the need of late capitalism for a type of imagery whose form and content can generate markets, control consumer behavior and increase the profitability of its products.

Although much of contemporary imagery is inexpensive for the consumer, that should not obscure the fact that the facilities of the mass media for reproducing and distributing images is exceedingly costly. Low unit costs can be achieved only by reaching publics that run in the millions as opposed to the hundreds who attended the biennial Salon exhibitions of the Academy in France in the 18th century or the thousands who attended after the Revolution. Clearly, the mode and purpose of disseminating images has changed enormously since then in order to reach many more people. The use of images to capture markets for goods is a new factor in history; it involves intense competition at the level of ideas and feelings rather than price competition. In some ways it is a more subtle and dangerous type of competition than the sort that reduces wages and extends hours of work. At any rate, there is a struggle for markets that bears no relation to Colbert's mercantilist methods of dominating Europe's art industries. From the standpoint of any realistic examination of art, one is faced with a large-scale invasion and appropriation of the popular imagination by a small group of entrepreneurs guided by few considerations beyond the perpetuation of their monopoly and the enlargement of their incomes. I do not believe that Ernst Fischer exaggerated the case in asserting that 'the capitalist world has discovered rich possibilities of profit through the production of artistic opiates. The producer of these opiates starts with the assumption that most consumers are troglodytes whose barbarian instincts he must satify' [3]. Writing in 1959 Fischer was, of course, impressed with the banality of the mass media. At the same time he seems to have discerned the signs of an alarming development that became a dreadful reality in the popular culture of the West during the

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1960s and 1970s: 'The production(s) of idiotic films and comics, commodities for the promotion of stupidity, viciousness, and crime' [3, p. 207].

It is inconceivable that in any previous era so many people saw the same images simultaneously for as long as five or six hours each day. From the standpoint of the media impressarios, viewing is a type of work disguised as entertainment. The 60 million film viewers per week of the United States of the 1940s and early 1950s in the U.S.A. is a paltry figure compared to the number of daily viewers of television in the seventies. This development has taken place largely in the absence of satisfactory art historical studies, the main reason being that the discipline is the prisoner of pre-Industrial Revolution (18th century) modes of studying visual art and analyzing its patrons. The business of commissioning, displaying, reproducing, distribut- ing and paying for art has changed in a fundamental sense. Yet few are interested in drawing the logical inferences from these changes.

Even from an 'art for art's sake' standpoint it stands to reason that art objects are substantially determined by the tools and techniques with which they are made. As soon as one examines these factors one is drawn into the question of their social and political implications as opposed to the conscious purposes of artists and the real or imagined needs of consumers. Clearly, the character of technology and its products are subject to market forces operating outside of traditional moral, religious and educational constraints. The cost of production has to be recovered, and, one way or another, artists and technicians and impressarios who direct them have to be paid. Does anyone believe that those who own and rent out the mass media for image production and distribution do so for spiritual reasons? I understand that the owners of radio and television broadcasting facilities realize profits as high as 20% on their capital investment in comparison to 8% or 9% for an older industry like steel-making and 6% in automobile manufacturing. Here the profit need not be discussed as an abstract question; in part it represents the return on capital that was accumulated from the savings or postponed consumption of millions of people. But, it must be recognized that the form and content of anything that is made available by the mass media is substantially determined (1) by the necessity of recovering its capitalization and (2) by the desire of its owners to make profits. So one has the situation in which the tools and processes that play a major role in the formation of contemporary conscious- ness are employed in a similar manner as those involved in the production of other commodities.

II. In drawing attention to the market character of

present-day image production I am not suggesting that art historians should abandon their exam- inations in the manner of the past. But if their studies result mainly in the revaluation of established styles or the tedious pursuit of

iconographic sources, are they not directing their attention backward to the solution of problems that are academic in the pejorative sense of the word? In this connection Berenson expressed his feelings about the turgidity that characterizes so much of contemporary art historical scholarship: 'How bored I get reading about the sources, the origins, of great works of art, whether visual or verbal. I have been perusing monographs on Bellini's Feast of the Gods. They try to trace back every figure to a preceding one from somewhere else, or as inspiring some later work. Endless discussion of what the artist's first intention was, how he changed it, how much Titian altered it all. I dare say dwelling upon the subject gives one a humanly warm feeling about a masterpiece, and more still toward its author. I doubt, though, whether it does not lead one away from feeling it, living it, identifying oneself with it as a pure work of art, and appreciating it as such' [4]. (For more on this point of view see Ref. 5.)

Now setting the record straight-either with regard to what actually happened or with respect to the significance of important artists' personalities- is only a precondition to what I regard as the main purpose of historical research-'is the understand- ing of the present' [6]. One has to deal with the fact that former traditions of image-making have been radically transformed by advanced technology and that the development of this technology began under capitalism. The production, distribution and use of images in the U.S.A. is even more intimately involved with the maintenance of capitalism than the painting of icons was involved in the perpetuation of Byzantine religiosity, for example. Today it is easier for anyone to obtain brushes, paint and a support to paint a picture. But very few persons can command the production and distri- bution systems of the mass media.

It is interesting to trace the changes in Renaissance style contingent on the transformed outlook of three generations of Medicean patrons. But in demonstrating the aesthetic consequences of changing ideologies, from Cosimo the Elder to Lorenzo the Magnificent to Pope Leo X, can one learn anything about the relations between the Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS), the Exxon Corporation and the various detergent manufac- turers who sponsor the trite and /or violent dramas that thrill and beguile people for hours on end? What is needed now from art historians-among other things-is a serviceable explanation of the mechanisms of consciousness-formation through the mediation of mass-media imagery. Observing and noting the factors that accompanied stylistic change during the 15th century represents the merest beginning to the task of providing explanations that are both true in a scientific sense and useful for confronting present social and cultural dilemmas.

Art historians, especially in the U.S.A., tend to be victims of alienation because their work by its very nature encourages them to feel inferior to the traditions they teach. To earn their bread by

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university teaching, that is, by having to explain past examples of European art to students whose spiritual commitment to commercial culture has blinded them to anything else, is regarded by many historians as frustrating and humiliating. I shall assume that the problem here does not reduce itself merely to a matter of teaching technique and that historians are not afflicted by snobbism, that is, resentment at having to deal with poorly prepared students in state universities rather than with students of wealthy parents who attend privately supported institutions. In the light of these assumptions, what are the real sources of their malaise? First is the elitism that may accompany art historical instruction. Without going into detail, an art historian often acquires the manners, diction and rhetoric of those well-dressed but underpaid sales-people who wait on the rich in expensive boutiques. The association with costly objects and the people who can afford to buy them frequently entails an assimilation of the values and style of potential buyers. One cannot make a sale unless one identifies with customers' needs and interests. That is an elementary principle of the psychology of salesmanship. The advanced training, travel and professional associations of art historians may, unfortunately, contribute to the development of an attitude of moral and social superiority toward the sort of person who is unlikely to visit the well- known museums and cannot be expected to own valuable works of art. Such persons may be insensitive to the values of the art historical tradition, but they easily recognize those who hold them in contempt. It would not be inaccurate, therefore, to describe some art historical instruction as an exchange of resentments by representatives of two antagonistic cultures.

As for the elitism of art history as a discipline, it grows out of the familiar emphasis of the scholar- connoisseur on problems of authenticity, attri- bution and provenance. This point was well made by Ren& Huyghe, hardly a Marxist, as follows: 'Unfortunately, generations of art historians, blindly imitating the methods of the parent science [history], were led paradoxically to give more importance to documents, contracts, signatures, and dates than to the work itself. The latter was treated as a kind of abstract, almost unimportant means of conveying the data concerning it, which took precedence over it!' [7].

Important though these problems are in certain settings, their centrality in the advanced training of art historians and in their subsequent teaching and writing leads to an institutionalization of the idea that works of art are essentially a marketable commodity, a singularly precious commodity. Certainly the catalogue raisonne with its scrupulous attention to the history of ownership is a monument to commodity fetishism [8]. From this condition comes the well-known identification of aesthetic values with pecuniary values; the establishment of a canon of selected master works that represent touchstones of quality against which the value of

non-canonical works can be measured; the distaste and condescension among many art historians for the contemporary culture of art reproductions; the museological presentation of art as a perpetuation of the medieval veneration of saints' relics; and the absurd cult of the artist-as-genius, for example Picasso, who left an estate valued at close to a billion dollars.

Where the preciousness of art as a commodity is not related to pecuniary values, it may be related to a hedonism, the product of a narrow psychological approach to art that endeavors to establish aesthetic values on the basis of more-or-less scientific measurements of subjective pleasure. As far back as 1936 Meyer Schapiro pointed out the hedonistic drift implicit in art produced under late capitalist auspices: 'The conception of art as purely aesthetic and individual can exist only where culture has been detached from practical and collective interests and is supported by individuals alone' [9].

Ultimately, hedonistic aesthetics is connected with pecuniary aesthetics because it is difficult to enjoy works of art in a bourgeois society unless they are shown to be costly. And their cost has to be seen as a fuction of their genuineness and rarity. Here the aesthetic role of art historian-connoisseurs becomes plain: they establish the authenticity and unique- ness of objects, hence their cost, hence their worthiness to be enjoyed. Thus it can be seen what the real purpose of much art historical instruction becomes: it is learning to recognize selected master artworks that candidates for upper-middle class status are authorized to enjoy.

Germain Bazin has, I believe, correctly identified the scholarly origins of the preoccupation with artistic form that, carried to an extreme, results in the denaturing of art, on the one hand, and the radical separation of art objects from their matrix in time, on the other. 'Interpretation of the work of art as that and nothing more-begun by the German thinkers Riegl and Wolfflin at the end of the century and brilliantly continued by historians or essayists writing in French, Waldemar D6onna, Elie Faure and Henri Focillon-crystalized this character of timelessness. But formal criticism of this kind carried with it the danger of a dehumanized formalism' [10].

The irony of much current art history as a discipline is that it so frequently employs historical evidence and historical methods to separate art objects from the processes of history. By 'processes of history' I mean the economic, social and political factors that attend the creation and use of works of art. It seems reasonable to assume that because art objects are a product of work, these factors must be embodied in its distinctive visual configuration. But by discussing works exclusively in terms of internally operative formal and spiritual 'forces', historians confuse the history of visual or stylistic change with the history of artistic change: that is, they convert the history of transformations in the way people work, see and think into the history of

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A Socialist Critique of Art History in the U.S.A.

depiction without viewers, thought without think- ers and work without workers. R. G. Saisselin characterizes this sort of historiography in a review of Michael Kitson's The Age of Baroque: 'This is art history divorced from history, men, institutions, and all the problems involved with artistic work and patronage, tastes and doctrines' [ 11]. Lifting art out of the context of productive human relationships stresses its supernatural value at one extreme and its pecuniary value at the other. Here one should distinguish between the study of artistic form in general and the study of paticular forms. The former becomes ultimately an empty and life- avoiding activity; the latter entails the study of particular examples of works as a means of discovering their connections to specific modes and instances of living, working and thinking. This type of study, it seems to me, is a prime example of what Marx meant by commodity fetishism. Works of art, which may be closely identified with the skillful application of a particular craft or with attempts of artists to express aspects of the world in the only way they can, are converted by connoisseurship into marketable objects.While there is nothing inherently wrong with this, there is something very wrong in carrying out scholarship and teaching as if the conditions of a commercial transaction constituted the fundamental relationship governing other relations between artists, art objects and viewers.

I find that deplorable conditions exist at all levels of art education; and art historians bear consider- able blame because they are partly responsible for the education of teachers and what they teach, and because they promulgate the sort of material that leaves students unfit for understanding art as it might affect the character of their lives. While he was not a teacher himself, the connoisseur Berenson had some sensible things to say in this connection: 'What is the purpose of teaching the young the history of art, and what is the history of art? Assuming it is the story of man's effort to give visual interpretation and statement to his reaction toward the chaos outside himself, how is it to be taught in a way that will make the young student feel and understand each achievement on its own merit? Whence is to come the orientation and the standard? And are we to teach him about art or how to appreciate it? The present approach seems external even when the subject is Picasso. How is it to be done otherwise? Perhaps by Socratic method, by persuading the student to look and try to state what he finds as he looks at a given work of art' [4, p. 89].

For several generations, art teachers have been absorbed in the promotion of 'creativity', an essentially unhistorical concept that they have taken over from some psychologists whose ideas of art and artists stem from desultory reading about 19th- and 20th-century bohemianism. In addition, the over-emphasis on making art objects in elementary and secondary schools leads to generation after generation of pupils who have been exposed mainly to examples of art produced by

their classmates. As for the rare attempts to teach art history in these schools, they are generally devoted to artistic biographies of the apocryphal, sensational or romantic type. I sympathize with Berenson's reaction, expressed at a time when a few artists have become objects of mass adulation, and verbal artistic maunderings are sanctified as holy writ: 'I cannot get myself to read about artists' lives and thoughts . . . Their ordinary doings and their reflections upon their own art are either irrelevant or common-place and do not help us to appreciate their products. Even a Leonardo, even a Delacroix, the most self conscious and intelligent of painters, have little to say that a person like myself, who never handled a brush, could not say as well' [4, p. 202].

I should add that certified teachers of art in the U.S.A. have generally been exposed to a survey course in the history of art plus one or two advanced courses on particular historical periods. Thus most teachers become adherents of the view that art is produced by isolated geniuses or by 'movements' hermetically sealed off from their societies. These notions are unhistorical and false, and they originate in the art for art's sake ideology purveyed by many professional art historians. These historians might well consider an observation of Frederick Antal, made in 1934: 'It is almost a hundred years since Ruskin, than whom none could have been more averse to the art for art's sake attitude, considered art as expressive of the society which produced it, if mainly of the ethical life of society, and was stimulated in consequence of his study of art to a thorough study of the social structure and social economy' [12].

III.

One of the assets of a socialist critique of culture lies in its examination of art within a comprehensive pattern that includes art consumers as well as artists, teachers, collectors, dealers and museum directors. Consumers should be studied from the standpoint of their responses to art based on a variety of factors, but especially including age, education, occupation and class origin. Historians of art have traditionally ignored these con- siderations because they are fearful of becoming entangled in the morass of aesthetics or the arbitrariness and lack of art appreciation by the general public. Besides, their commitment to art history as the history of 'pure' artistic form, or as the history of a selected group of master works and of artists leads them to consider the study of art consumers as 'outside the field'. By implication, the study of art consumers is the domain of sociologists, psychologists and aestheticians; but art historians who deal with this material feel they are avoiding the main problem, which is the explication of the factors of influence and origin that make up the history of the development of styles. Consider the example of Georges Duby-both social historian and art historian-as he calls attention to the

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intimate connection between art appreciation and class patronage during the 14th century: 'Meanwhile Italian patrons had become inquisitive about the nature of things, and they now expected artists to give them a genuine illustration of reality. In this connection another attitude made itself felt. One could hardly call it bourgeois without slandering its most fervent hopes; yet it was an attitude common not only to practitioners of medicine, law and government but to all those who had done well in trade and risen to power in the urban aristocracy. These patricians had not been to a university, but they had learned to use their eyes with the keenness essential for estimating at a glance the quality of the innumerable commodities of mercatura. The ramifications of their business compelled them to see the world plainly and to see it whole. They understood figures, and to them the word ratio also meant a bookkeeping transaction [13].

In summary, I believe that the central problem of art historians, regardless of the period on which they specialize, is to show the material and social connections between art and human consciousness. This does not preclude the appreciation of a work for its stylistic and aesthetic qualities. As Antal asserted: 'There is no contradiction between a picture as a work of art and as a document of its time, since the two are complementary' [12, p. 186]. I do not believe that the demonstration of the connections between quality and historical circum- stance can be reduced to a simple formula; sensibility and insight based on study and experience are indispensable. Art history, it seems to me should be a discipline that strives for the objectives of the social sciences, even though it cannot as yet approach the rigor of physics. Much of its appeal derives from the fact that there is at present disagreement about the artistic strategies that cause certain types of artworks to predominate at particular times and in certain places. But to ignore the influence of economic and social factors

in the determination of these strategies causes the discipline of art history to be rendered inert. The separation of the visual characteristics of an artwork from the processes of working, thinking, owning and prizing is, I find, too common in much of teaching and writing on art in the U.S.A. It contributes to a general morbidity in art historical instruction, with the consequence that men and women who have been exposed to education are generally incapable of understanding the vital connections between artistic imagery and the social, moral and economic dilemmas of their lives. What I am asking of art historians is reasonable enough: show us the connections.

REFERENCES

1. A. Hauser, Mannerism. The Crisis of the Renaissance and the Origin of Modern Art, Vol. I (New York: Knopf, 1965) p. 357.

2. Bell, On Human Finery, Second Ed. (New York: Schocken Books, 1977) p. 155.

3. E. Fischer, The Necessity of Art. A Marxist Approach, (Harmondsworth, England: Penguin Books, 1963) p. 206

4. B. Berenson, Sunset and Twilight. From the Diaries of 1947- 1958 (New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1963) p. 91.

5. M. Levey, Putting the Art Back into Art History, Leonardo 9, 63 (1976).

6. A. Hauser, The Social History of Art, Vol. II (New York: Knopf, 1951) p. 714.

7. R. Huyghe, Ideas and Images in World Art. Dialogue with the Visible (New York: Abrams, 1959) p. 418.

8. See E. Lucie-Smith's discussion of the catalogue raisonne in The Purpose of Art History, Encounter 44, 68 (Apr. 1975).

9. M. Schapiro, The Social Bases of Art (1936), in D. Shapiro, Ed., Social Realism. Art as a Weapon (New York: Frederick Ungar, 1973) p. 123.

10. G. Bazin, The Loom of Art (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1962) p. 317.

11. R. G. Saisselin, review of M. Kitson's The Age of Baroque, in The Art Bulletin 48, 456 (Nos, 3-4, 1966).

12. F. Antal, Remarks on the Method of Art History, in Classicism and Romanticism (New York: Harper, 1966) p. 185.

13. G. Duby, Foundations of a New Humanism. 1280-1440. (Geneva: Skira, 1966) p. 202.

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