Inspired by “O.G. Rose Episode #84: Bethany Tabor on a Life of a Mind”
Adding Daily Life to a Gallery, Institutional Adaption, and Endless Decisions
On the Risk of “Othering” in Saying, “That is Art”
Bethany Tabor is magnificent, and her Substack is a wonderful collection of reflections on numerous topics, all of which are worth reading: everything she writes brings with it an insight that stays with the reader longer after the piece is read. Recently, she spoke with Michelle on art, curation, museums, and much more. She started the conversation noting Hannah Arendt’s distinction between labor, work, and action, and pointed out how for Arendt “action” is what makes humans “human,” and action is ultimately always political. Because we can “act,” we can work collectively, and that means we can form societies. Ms. Tabor also noted how Arendt viewed “art” as a link that carried us from animals to “humans,” which is to say art is paramount for humans to engage in “action.” These were fascinating points, as were her notions on how the artist, in producing art, agrees to have their “subjectivity” transformed into an object for the public sphere to enjoy and judge; in this way, the artist is evidence that “subjectivity” and “objectivity” can be linked at the hip — they shouldn’t be so readily divided.
Ms. Tabor noted how people today tend to conflate “standard” with “authority,” which is to say we don’t believe we have “permission” to be creative unless institutions give us that permission, but really institutions exist to provide “standards.” We tend to think that if we don’t meet x standard, that means we’re not allowed to do y, but that is a mistake: we can fail to meet a standard and yet still act. This is an important distinction, because many people today don’t engage in creativity because an institution hasn’t told them that “they meet x standard,” which people interpret as meaning “they aren’t allowed to do y,” when really it just means their art won’t be featured in a museum. But that doesn’t mean people can’t or shouldn’t paint: it just means that they’re going to need to practice a lot more before they’re featured in a gallery, in the same way that a high school basketball player will have to practice a lot more before he or she is allowed to play in the NBA. We are “able” to play basketball even if the “authoritative” NBA has not claimed we met the “standard” of being a professional, and the same goes with art (though for some reason we seem to think there is a difference). This is especially important to grasp if there is indeed something about creativity that is necessary for mental health: if creativity is good for us, but we don’t think we’re “permitted” to create without institutional support, then we won’t do what is good for us, and the consequences could be dire.
Also, people seem to think they cannot create because they conflate “skill” with “ability,” which is to say that if they’re not professional at x, they don’t think they have the ability to do x, but this is a mistake. “Skill” and “ability” are distinct, and though we tend to know that in other areas, it seems natural for us to forget this when it comes to art. This is a problem, because we need an “authority” to judge something as skillful or not, and that means institutions decide if people are allowed to be creative by informing them they have the ability to create. This is all a fallacy, of course, but if it is one people ascribe to and think, then people will not be creative until they are given permission, but by definition “a standard” cannot grant its blessing to everyone, precisely because “a standard” requires exclusion. And so art and creativity will become something that only an “exclusive few” engage in, and that means only an “exclusive few” may exercise a practice necessary for full human flourishing.
We need “standards of excellence,” and that means we need institutions, but we also must be careful to think that we need the blessings of these standards to exercise our creative abilities. All of us can be creative, just like all of us can exercise, and if we don’t, there could be consequences. Not necessarily, no, for I could avoid exercise and nevertheless avoid suffering a heart attack, as I could avoid philosophy and never face the consequences. At the same time, it still might be a bad bet.
I also liked Ms. Tabor’s point that when we are incredibly busy, it’s hard for us to catch and identify subtle philosophical distinctions (saybetween “ability” and “skill” (for example), suggesting the busyness contributes to us conflating such terms and consequently being at the mercy of institutions. I think this is exactly right, meaning that lifestyle and speed are consequential, and do note that if we can’t see subtle philosophical distinctions we’ve missed, then we’ve also lost the ability to see that we don’t see these distinctions, poising a significant problem.
Lastly, a point that Ms. Tabor raised that I particularly liked was on the tension of an institution or museum walking in and saying, “This is art,” and in that act ripping out a way of life from a culture. To help explain, when an expert decides the basket weaving of Native Americans is “art,” this risks alienating the work from out of the daily life in which it is embedded. Before then, basket weaving was an expression of “domestic life,” but suddenly it becomes “high art.” Isn’t that a good thing? Well, perhaps, but there is also the risk of something imperialistic.
When a cultural practice is called “art,” it can suddenly become “visible” and “stand out,” changing forever our relation to it. Heidegger speaks of a doorknob being “invisible” until it breaks, which is in some respects problematic, but there are also new problems that are introduced when something “stands out.” When a people engage in basket weaving and architecture as “a part of their way of life,” it becomes part of the texture of their everyday routines, and there is a beauty and serenity that can arise in that particular relation to the practices. But when a curator comes in and, perhaps out of the best intentions, says, “That is art,” suddenly that relation can be forever transformed. The people may lose the ability to see the basket weaving as expressing their culture; now, the practice expresses art and creativity. Did the people want this change? Were they asked before this change of orientation occurred? Probably not, which suggests an imperialistic risk that doesn’t obviously present itself as such a risk. After all, aren’t we honoring the culture by calling their work “art?” Perhaps. Perhaps not.
It is no small thing to call something “art,” a point which Ms. Tabor brought out and that I found profound. “Art” is something “different” from everything else in our lives, and thus there is a risk in the designation making something “different” from the culture in which it is situated. Could this help save the culture in making us be more intentional about it? It could, but the thing we cared about might at that point be forever lost (“art” can be a step toward the “art-ificial” if we’re not careful). To avoid that error, a certain mode of “care” will prove necessary, which suggests why curation itself is a delicate artform, a practice which Ms. Bethany Tabor honors and expresses with her very life and work.
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