It’s a question that can spark lively debate at any dinner party, or even in the hushed halls of a museum: what exactly is art? And who gets to decide?
When we talk about something being a "robin outline drawing," for instance, we’re likely thinking about a visual representation. But does that automatically make it art? The fascinating thing is, the definition of art has been a moving target throughout history and across cultures. Some might argue that true art is a relatively recent European invention, a product of the Renaissance. But honestly, that feels a bit narrow, doesn't it? To dismiss millennia of human creativity from other parts of the world simply because it doesn't fit a very specific, localized mold seems… well, a little ethnocentric.
Think about the cave paintings of Lascaux or Altamira. Picasso himself didn't hesitate to call them art, and who are we to argue? If we exclude them because they served a purpose – perhaps ritualistic or communicative – then what about the Sistine Chapel? That certainly had a function, a grand one at that. The truth is, many things we create are designed with a specific impact in mind. They’re meant to catch our eye, to stir something within us, whether it's awe, wonder, or simple delight.
This idea of function, of intent to elicit a response, offers a much broader and, I think, more inclusive way to look at what we call art. It’s not just about self-expression, as the Romantic era might have us believe, but about the deliberate crafting of artifacts – from intricate garments to grand architectural plans – for their visual effect. This definition comfortably includes most of what you’d find in a major museum, and it resonates with how most people intuitively understand the concept.
It’s also interesting to consider the argument that if a culture didn't have a specific word for 'art' or 'artist,' then they didn't have art. This feels like a linguistic trap. We wouldn't say a society didn't have a religion or an economy just because their language lacked those exact terms. Sometimes, the concept is embedded in other words or practices. For example, if a society praised artisans for imbuing objects with 'spiritual power,' and that power was perceived through the object's visual appeal, then isn't that a form of valuing beauty, even if they didn't use the word 'beautiful' in the way we might?
The makers of the Book of Kells, for instance, poured incredible effort into those pages. The result inspires wonder, even miracles, in the eyes of beholders. This wasn't accidental. The sheer labor involved points to a deliberate pursuit of a certain visual quality, a beauty that was sought, regardless of the specific label attached to it. It’s this underlying human drive to create things that visually engage us, that shape our response, that truly defines the realm of art, spanning across time and continents.
