It is hard to think of any work of art of which one can say 'this saved the life of one Jew, one Vietnamese, one Cambodian'. Specific books, perhaps; but as far as one can tell, no paintings or sculptures. The difference between us and the artists of the 1920's is that they they thought such a work of art could be made. Perhaps it was a certain naivete that made them think so. But it is certainly our loss that we cannot.
Interpretation
The quote reflects on the impact of art, suggesting that contemporary works may lack the perceived ability to save lives or inspire profound change.
Robert Hughes emphasizes a perceived decline in the transformative power of art from the past to the present. He notes that artists from the 1920s believed their work could significantly change lives, and while specific books may have influenced individuals, he argues that no visual art, such as painting or sculpture, has achieved that same level of impact in modern times. The loss he mentions is a commentary on a contemporary cynicism or realism that contrasts with the idealism of earlier artists who believed in the ability of art to invoke real change and save lives.
In practice
In a discussion about the role of art in activism, one might quote this to illustrate how art has changed in its perceived impact.
Essentially, perspective is a form of abstraction. It simplifies the relationship between eye, brain and object. It is an ideal view, imagined as being seen by a one-eyed, motionless person who is clearly detached from what he sees. It makes a God of the spectator, who becomes the person on whom the whole world converges, the Unmoved Onlooker.
Landscape is to American painting what sex and psychoanalysis are to the American novel.
Popular in our time, unpopular in his. So runs the stereotype of rejected genius.
What does one prefer? An art that struggles to change the social contract, but fails? Or one that seeks to please and amuse, and succeeds?
What has our culture lost in 1980 that the avant-garde had in 1890? Ebullience, idealism, confidence, the belief that there was plenty of territory to explore, and above all the sense that art, in the most disinterested and noble way, could find the necessary metaphors by which a radically changing culture could be explained to its inhabitants.
The greater the artist, the greater the doubt; perfect confidence is granted to the less talented as a consolation prize.
The aim of our studies is to prove that color is the most relative means of artistic expression, that we never really perceive what color is physically.
Arabic is very twisting, very beautiful. The call to prayer is quite haunting; it almost makes you a believer on the spot.
The body is your instrument in dance, but your art is outside that creature, the body.
I was glamorous because of magicians like George Folsey, James Wong Howe, Oliver Marsh, Ray June, and all those other great cinematographers. I trusted those men and the other experts who made us beautiful. The rest of it I didn't give a damn about. I didn't fuss about my clothes, my lighting, or anything else, but, believe me, some of them did.
But then, that's the beauty of writing stories-each one is an exploratory journey in search of a reason and a shape. And when you find that reason and that shape, there's no feeling like it.
Music was our wife and we loved her. We stayed with her, clothed her and put diamond rings on her hands.
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