Cinematography and the post-dialectic

I’ve claimed that it is photography’s promise of realism that began the post-dialectic in modern art. This is, of course, wildly oversimplified. Over the weekend I was reading a essay claiming roughly the same results arising from the introduction of cinematography. This raises the question of what, exactly, art is about before the modern era, versus what it is about in (or, perhaps, after) the modern era. I think Caveman stands in this analysis; I got it right the first time, in other words, but it could be put another way.

To say that art has a single goal is probably not true, regardless of the period you’re considering. To ascribe a singular purpose to painting, or even to a single painting, is probably also not true. Think of all the religious painting in just about every cathedral from the Mediterranean to the Arctic. The initial rationale might be to tell a particular story, let’s say, for argument’s sake, the Annunciation. A painting hangs in the alcove, showing a kneeling Gabriel, a perplexed Mary, perhaps the odd Ann or Elizabeth or young JTB on the side. Perhaps there is a Holy Ghost somewhere, or various plants associated with the Marian stories. All of this comes under the umbrella of straightforward, mostly, telling the story of the Annunciation. Maybe, though, the painter has included some panels somewhere of some praying supplicants, or random onlookers. These supernumeraries turn out to be portraits of the patrons of the artist or the church, or maybe one of them is the local bishop. These inclusions add a new level to the narrative, and tell us something about the situation when the painting was created, in addition to the information about the literal subject of the painting. Perhaps at the same time, the artist is working on some new approach like sfumato, which is, shall we say, completely inside baseball—or inside painting—but nonetheless enhances the purely aesthetic appeal of the work for its audience, i.e., its success as a painting qua painting, removed from its text and context. But of course, given that its text and context are its rationale, it can’t be removed from them. And if that isn’t enough, add to all of these the religious aspects of the art, the intention of allowing the viewers to make a spiritual connection that transcends the literal narrative. Even if all the artist is trying to do is tell that Annunciation story—no extras, no new gimmicks, not even any religious concern—he cannot discount his materials, his site and his choice of how, exactly, to do that telling, as elements of the storytelling. As you can see, there’s a lot going on in this one painting, and we can pick and choose which of those goings-on we want to think about, either as the artist or as the appreciators of the art.

But consider that primary purpose, which is the telling of the story of the Annunciation. The painting is, metaphorically, a snapshot of one moment of that story. It is a crucial, focal moment, but a moment nonetheless. Imagine instead a movie, for instance last year’s The Nativity Story. It’s not much of a leap to assume that it, too, tells the story of the Annunciation (and a lot more of the related narrative). The difference in realism of seeing a movie of the event versus seeing a painting of the event is titanic. If I wish to tell the story of the Annunciation, there is little question that I can do so more effectively in the medium of film than in the medium of painting. Thus the medium of painting, for the purposes of story-telling, is supplanted by the medium of film, once the latter is actually invented. The film can do a better job. And it doesn’t matter whether we’re talking about the Annunciation or the beheading of John the Baptist or Moses on Mt. Sinai or Napoleon at Waterloo or any story, period. In terms of visual art, a movie does more, or a painting does less. There are inherent differences. It is not apples and oranges (as would be comparing reading TLOTR and seeing the films of TLOTR, which would be a different thing altogether). It is apple juice versus the picture of an apple. But note that it isn’t quite reality. Reality would be the actual events themselves. Reality is the apple.

The point is, remove the need to tell a story from the process of painting, and what’s left? Or ask yourself, can you ever completely remove storytelling from painting? The answers don’t matter. It’s the existence of the questions that concern us in the post-dialectical world of modern art. Questions like patronage, like the nature of the media, like intent. Like the essential nature of narratives. Is a painting of the Annunciation more evocative of a religious inner response than a film? Is religion narrative? And where does reality come into all of this?

As soon as you start to ask these questions, you can never turn back.