This started me thinking about the ways that questions of what, how, and why might relate to the arts. People frequently disagree about what the definition of art could be—what is the elusive factor that causes one object or performance to be recognized as a work of art and another to be excluded from this classification? Questions of what generally relate to products, sometimes beginning the perennial questions that arise when people are confronted by an unfamiliar work of art: What is that? What does it mean? What’s that supposed to be? When artists do their creative work, the word how frequently comes to mind: How could I embody my idea in a work of art? How I can make this work better? How should I present this work? Questions beginning with the word “how” tend to refer to processes involved in creating an artwork as well as to its presentation, performance, or to the ways a work of art communicates the artist’s message.
Where does the power of the arts lie: in the product, the process, or…something else?
The processes and products of the arts are equally important because there simply can be no product without process. Consider Beethoven: he was just as instrumental in creating the artistic process of composing program music as he was in the works of program music he composed. Process factors heavily into program music because this type of composition conveys an “extra-musical” story or “feeling” driven entirely by the composer’s intentions toward the piece: musical elements are deliberately chosen not only for their sound value but for the narrative they form in the listener’s mind. This is a complex interaction between numerous processes and a product: the process of composition, the product of the score, the process of performing the musical product (which is subject to interpretation), and the processes of apprehension and comprehension by the audience. Beethoven added another dimension to artistic process through his implementation of the then-new invention of the metronome and metronome markings on the musical score, placing increased emphasis on the way in which the music was played (tempo indications)—the processes of composition and performance—as opposed to attention on just the reproduction of the musical notes themselves.
Similarly, Van Gogh’s unique process of painting resulted in his distinctive artistic products. Process was even more important in the works of abstract expressionist painter Jackson Pollock, whose process of creating the work—known as action painting—took precedence over the resulting work itself, an idea championed by noted critic Clement Greenberg who extolled the virtues of Pollock’s focus on artistic process. Leonard Bernstein was as well known for his process of conducting as he was the products of his work as a composer. Author J.R.R. Tolkien was known for his extensive, meticulous process of writing, creating entire cultural histories and unique languages to provide a conceptual foundation for The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy.
Given these examples, therefore, it is illogical to attempt to differentiate between the importance of the process and products of the arts because one cannot exist without the other. Works of art simply don’t appear haphazardly. Philosopher William Paley theorized that someone walking through a field and happening upon a rock could reasonably presume the rock to be a natural part of the environment. However, if a person found a watch in the field it would be nonsensical to presume that it had occurred through natural processes. Just as the designed object in Paley’s example implies the existence of a designer, a product of the arts also implies an artistic process.
If we really want to understand the power of the arts, however, we must look deeper than product or process, beyond questions of what and how. Let’s consider these questions as they relate to Van Gogh’s “Starry Night.”
What: this work is an oil painting depicting the night sky.
How: Van Gogh painted the sky he’d observed through the window of his bedroom in a sanatorium, working from both his memories and his own artistic interpretation.
Neither of these, however, accounts for the power of this iconic artwork. What’s missing is the question, “Why”. The “why” of a work of art can be posed in many ways, often in questions asked by the audience: “Why did the artist create this work of art?” and “Why should I care about this work?” Van Gogh’s painting resonates with the viewer, communicating a powerful message about the wonder, glory, and splendor of the night sky. The work is infused with passion and elegance, revealing the painter’s amazing perception of celestial phenomena. More than this, though, is the fact that a viewer of this work can be, quite literally, transfixed by its presence—it appeals to the part of the brain processing stimuli beyond language, eliciting a visceral reaction beyond words. The power of the arts rests in their ability to do this—to move beyond the what and the how, the product and the process, and reach out to touch people’s hearts, their beliefs, their very reason for living. The “why” of an artwork makes the work personally communicative, and in the case of Van Gogh, allows a viewer to make an emotional connection to the painter himself. It doesn’t matter at all that Van Gogh has been dead for more than 100 years—to view “Starry Night” is to share in the artist’s experience. If what relates to product, and how relates to process, then why is inextricably linked to emotion.
Aesthetic philosophers have examined this idea for centuries. What is it about a work of art that causes someone to completely lose themselves in the aesthetic experience? To somehow stand alongside Van Gogh and be suffused with wonder at the night sky? To accompany Beethoven on a walk through the countryside, experiencing the fury of a thunderstorm? To anguish with Tolkien as Gandalf plunges into the abyss of Moria? No external examination of process or product, of what or how, fully addresses the power of the arts—the ability of a work to capture the audience’s empathy, attention, and imagination so thoroughly as to temporarily cast all other thoughts and worries aside. The power of the arts rests in the why—the emotional bond that is formed between the artist and the audience beyond technique or materials.
Works of art exist because of a complicated interrelationship of process, product, and emotion, none of which can be excluded from consideration. And yet, without emotion, a work of art is nothing more than paint on canvas, a lump of stone, black markings on a page, or a pattern of sound and silence. I’m reminded of an episode of M*A*S*H in which a concert pianist is severely injured. Dr. Winchester (played by David Ogden Stiers) presents the musician with sheet music for Ravel’s Piano Concerto for the Left Hand, only to be vehemently rejected. The doctor, a passionate music lover, then says to the musician:
Don't you see? Your hand may be stilled, but your gift cannot be silenced if you refuse to let it be. The gift does not lie in your hands. I have hands, David. Hands that can make a scalpel sing. More than anything in my life I wanted to play, but I do not have the gift. I can play the notes, but I cannot make the music. You have performed Liszt, Rachmaninoff, Chopin. Even if you never do so again, you've already known a joy that I will never know as long as I live. Because the true gift is in your head and in your heart and in your soul. Now you can shut it off forever, or you can find new ways to share your gift with the world - through the baton, the classroom, or the pen. As to these works, they're for you, because you and the piano will always be as one.
(Season 8, Episode 19 “Morale Victory”, originally aired January 28, 1980. http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0009453/quotes)
Art does not lie only in the notes, the paint, the clay, the words, or the movement. A work of art is more than these things. We can try to define art by its products or processes. We can make these the focus of our studies and analyses. But to truly understand the power of the arts, we must also consider them in less concrete, less tangible, more ephemeral and—yes—emotional ways. This is not as neat, tidy, or objective as scholars might prefer. It may even involve delving more deeply into the motivations or intentions of the artists, as inconvenient or inaccessible as these can be. However, to fully understand the power of the arts, there is little doubt that what, how, and why are inseparable.