PROBLEM 0002: Feeling About Art vs Thinking About Art

In which the author thinks about Feeling vs Thinking, then feels about Thinking vs Feeling. In which Feelings come under attack. In which turnabout is fair play and Thinking feels the pressure. Wherein the human tearfully makes a case for itself. And where feeling says to thinking, “Quit whining, the sun is coming out.” Also, gender.

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One conundrum facing the individual who is trying to rekindle their love (or like) of art is that ever-present disparity between “feeling” and “thinking”. Often when I converse with someone about art, there is usually a bone of contention (or a tendon of indifference) picked over something said that doesn’t relate to feelings. I’m only surprised by this if I’m particularly stupid that day. But it makes sense. The intellectual is crass and apparently unfair to the poor artist who didn’t intend smartness to talk about his art. The artist created with feeling (deeper than jazz hands, Jackson) and the painting expresses feeling (like breast milk) and the viewer ought to feel something and then feel his way to his pocketbook or Like button.

My problem with feelings is not that they are a lesser way to experience art, but that they are dependent upon so many factors outside the art for their production. If we rely on feelings to like or dislike art, then we have to admit that the following things are as much a part of the art as the art is:

A QUICK LIST OF THINGS WHICH MAKE “FEELINGS” A LITTLE SUSPECT

• The order in which you see artworks
• That pretty girl in the corner of the gallery
• The audio docent whispering in your ear
• How hungry you are / How full you are
• Last night’s X-Files binge
• Last night’s The Bachelorette binge
• Last night’s Fellini / Godard / Greenaway binge
• The playlist you chose on the way to the museum (Philip Glass / Nine Inch Nails / Paula Abdul)
• The children you had five years ago
• The children you are supposed to have seven months from now
• That pretty girl in the gallery who is standing much closer to you now
• The Beatles
• Hair loss

Engaging art is a crapshoot. Did you read the news this morning? Sucked, right? Now look at some art. 

The brain is a fascinating, complicated thing. Half of what it does borders on utter inanity, feeding drives and desires and bellies. The other half is well beyond brilliance, connecting disparate things into shimmering nuggets of thought and survival. 

Feelings may be sufficient for the moment, but they are not indicators of quality, effectiveness, or verity in art.

But oh god no, what do we do then? When analysis enters the room the readers/listeners scatter, and who can blame them? Clotted with jargon, formal to the point of absurdity, unclear in what they are trying to say or so clear that there is no room for conversation, analysis is often an exercise for the analyzer rather than the interested. When it is more than an exercise, it can be fascinating and the analyzer can wield influence upon some or most who encounter it. 

Analysis is necessary to discover and claim excellence in art, but “excellence” is another dangerous word when contemporary art is under view. Analysis is necessary to discuss formalistic, expressionistic choices. Analysis, when loosely carried out, bores and distracts from the art. When applied consistently and with care, it can become a luscious appendix to the art event. Or not.

Where is the human in all this? Obviously, both components are a part of human nature, oscillating in folks at different times in their lives. Who is to say which is better? What results are we looking for? Are we striving to be gods or just really interesting humans?

To return to feeling for a moment, one would expect all people to feel something in the presence of the most “effective” art, but there are many who are left cold by art, no matter what is in front of them. And while “left cold” is a feeling, it is often unproductive. One must stoke the fires, which takes energy one may not want to spend on art. 

So what is one to do with this conundrum? Try to feel more (a forced and unpleasant prospect: who tries to feel?) or try to analyze more (requiring practice and consistency)? 

Maybe there is something else? Maybe this is a false dichotomy promoted on the shoulders of gender for the last couple millennia. Perhaps we ought to be in a genderless, hypnotic trance when looking at art. 

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