I could be wrong, but a lot of museums have a section inevitably dedicated to urban blight, urban decay, or just the (sometimes benign) input humans have on nature. And I think there was a time where that was a deep, innovative connection to be made. It was authenticity on display. Now it just seems passive.
Basically, I bring this up for two reasons: I'm wary about art that traffics in, or profits off of, its genuineness. It's why anything that is blatantly emotional is suspicious to me, with a few minor exceptions. And why things like Pop art tend to look more authentic in capturing an era these days than those that were trying to do so at the time they were taken! Second, I have tried to capture natural subjects in conjunction with human objects, an attempt to find the beauty in the ugly. And time and time again, I feel as though the natural subjects are where my eye lingers; I don't see the beauty of manmade debris.
Art? A deep commentary on the impact of "man" ? Or just another tire on the beach because they're that easy to come by if you walk around for a few minutes?
Now, there is no way for me to carve open another artists' brain to see if the intent behind their work was calculated or instinct or honest--or all three. But, I was trained as a kid to be wary of the Thomas Kinkade's of the world. He was a scam artist. He produced a lot of material, which is why you can't escape him in every dentist's office waiting room you've ever been in. The scam he did was pretty simple; he'd paint something, say there were a limited edition of copies of said piece--when he made 100,000s--and sold them all at those limited edition prices. What annoys me most is not the dishonesty. What's upsetting is that his art is terribly sentimental. And he profited off of people wanting emotional connection.
Personally, I can't stand his stuff. Painful to look at. Like if Lisa Frank went full blown Americana. I take that back. Lisa Frank at least was up front about her mass commercialism.
Today especially, I feel the urgency to question art that traffics in sentimentality. I feel as though our country is ripe to give in to the next Kinkade on a massive scale. We might already have.
If I could spend years in Academia I probably would write my thesis on the cultural neediness that comes from generations of young adults who lack emotional security. From my peanut gallery view, I am wary now of my generation wanting authenticity at the risk of being too easily guarded or too easily triggered: millennials have an odd paradox of extreme lack of trust, high levels of depression and anxiety, and the deep-seated need for authenticity and connection; I think it no surprise that we are living through a deluge of eye-candy replacements for real interpersonal interaction (snapchat filters, and binge-able candid-camera moments of people being surprised by enormous generosity, dogs being reunited with their soldier companions, etc.) But, we don't know how to hold a conversation with a stranger when our phones go dead.
Personally, I don't think human waste is beautiful. I find it sad when even the parts of nature humans don't visit often still are heavily impacted by us. Videos of animals choking on plastic being saved by humans doesn't make me go "Yay! Humans are good for saving animals!" they instead make me think, "Humans clearly aren't doing their best, because if we only see this one getting saved, the other thousand probably aren't." And it's still for the humans' pleasure of viewing that that animal's life being saved has been shared at all.
I'm working on a series of photos that touch on this theme, although I'm not quite sure what to call it. Angry ramblings of a photographer wary of industry? Why is this engaging even though the reality is kind of crappy for the animals that make it worth looking at? A whiney liberal wanting to hug a tree? Probably. More than anything, it's just about respect. I sincerely believe Americans lack respect for the things that are truly the most important in our world. And, sadly, I think it's due to the fact that we just don't respect ourselves, or each other to begin with.
I do think it is possible to change this, though. There are havens of thoughtful connection even within the vacuums; friends of mine choose to go out and make connection--host book clubs, meet up with friends long since not seen, cook dinners with familiar and not-so-familiar faces, spend nights in active conversation across a table and not over a text. But, the areas of our country considered most adept and innovative, I think, are also producing the largest amounts of environmental and emotional disconnection per capita. And I think they're related. I don't know anyone who lives in Scottsbluff, Nebraska. But, I am curious how good or worse they are in finding connection, and knowing about their local environment.
More soon.
