“It’s absolute balls to talk about drawing as creative. It’s a question of being receptive. -John Berger
Recently Channel 4 have screened a series of five programmes (Life Class: Today’s Nude) which invite viewers to dig out a pencil and paper and draw alongside five different artists: Gary Hume, Judy Purbeck, Humphrey Ocean, Maggie Hambling and John Berger. I watched all the programmes on 4 On Demand in the hope of hearing something new, different or radical about life drawing, but I have to say that there wasn’t a great deal on offer.
What I did find interesting though, was just how little John Berger delved into the problematics of life drawing. Yes he talked about the poetics and this is what we have come to expect from Berger, but considering his influential Ways of Seeing in which he asks us to consider what he arranges “but be skeptical of it” maybe it’s not too much to hope that he might have opened up the debate a little more. Perhaps this is one of the drawbacks of simply being a contributor to a series rather than its “arranger”, yet I think there’s a lot we can gain from considering (i.e. being sceptical about) what was presented in the five programmes.
Everyone except Berger worked in a traditional artist’s studio setting. Berger, being predominantly a writer and critic and therefore less likely to use a studio, was set up in a photo/video studio with camera gear and black backdrop. I’m very sure he was well aware of the influence this setting would have over our understanding of the context, especially in light of his longstanding scrutiny of the dominance of photographic images and their ability to be reproduced and disseminated.
Of all the “artists” Berger was the only one who appeared to have any real discussion with his model and he also made a particular point of saying that he considers life drawing to be a collaborative process. This contrasted starkly with the Gary Hume episode in particular. Whilst Hume had a couple of fairly interesting things to say about the process of drawing what struck me most was the fact that his model was clearly unknown to him before she arrived. Kirsten Varley was introduced as a “fashion model” – tall, slim, large breasts, long curly hair etc - and it was patently obvious that he had practically (if not actually) picked her out of a men’s magazine as some kind of trophy rather than for any genuinely creative purpose. If we had any sneaking suspicions about Hume’s fawning attitude towards the fashion industry, then this utterly confirmed them.
As I’ve already mentioned, Berger made a gesture of being seen to discuss his drawing with his model both before and after the session and it’s clear that he wanted us to be aware that he considered Maria Muñoz as an individual. But despite this, he comes across clearly as the “Artist”, the active agent and the commanding voice describing what is going on in “his” mind. Maria Muñoz, a dancer by profession, was literally frozen on the spot, her voice was barely if ever heard and her professional physical voice, which requires motion and duration to express itself, was reduced to a mere phantom presence.
But, of course, this is what life drawing does – it has an artist who is active and a model who is ostensibly passive: who poses. Certainly, to some extent, posing is an active process; in fact the longer the pose, the more determination and concentration the physical act of staying still actually requires but this is a static action performed for the visual scrutiny (gaze) of others who, wittingly or unwittingly, manipulate, control and ultimately own these representations and no amount of “action” on the part of the model can really change this unequal balance of power.
But let’s leave this inequality aside for a moment, after all, models get paid for what they do (paltry though it is) and there are lots other ways to make a living – a number of which are significantly more exploitative than being a life model.
So what’s the actual value of life drawing over other types of drawing?
One significant aspect that was not discussed or even mentioned in Life Class: Today’s Nude is the unique seriousness of life drawing. Anyone who has ever participated in a life class will remember the tension of their first experience of life drawing. Like many people in tense or serious situations, some students feel an urge to giggle (which is most often resisted of course), others find it difficult to look at the model and almost everyone feels uncomfortable. Yet very quickly the process of normalisation begins: the model takes their pose, the students remain silent but attentive (each one caught up in their own private cognitive dissonance) but most importantly, the tutor dispels the tension by speaking with professional assurance and by giving the students not just the permission but the actual instruction to look at the model and to translate this looking into studied drawing. By the time a few lines have been drawn (both literally and figuratively) the students are absorbed into what seems like just a typical day at art school.
But this process of normalisation is never entirely complete. Despite the veneer of studious contemplation and creative intent, the fact remains that such situations are highly charged. In the centre of the room, a naked human being stands, sits or lies motionless, surrounded by a group of students peering at every inch of their exposed flesh. Their facial expression, hand gestures, posture, skin surfaces, muscular tensions, and underlying bone structure are all visually charted, captured, fixed and consumed. With the possible exception of medical examination and sexual fascination, no other circumstance involves such deliberate and concentrated attention to the naked presence of another human being. This tension is extremely fragile, since at its heart is a singularly exposed individual. It is therefore precisely this fragility that makes life drawing such a serious business – a seriousness that only the most formal exam situation can approach in terms of demanding respectful disciplined attention.
When I began writing this response to Life Class: Today’s Nude I had the intention of focusing my attention on the anachronism that is life drawing. It turns out though, that after consideration, I feel that life classes have some real value, not least of which that they offer artists one of the only (possibly THE only) real antidote to the sanitised, cosmetically and digitally enhanced images of bodies we are continually fed through fashion, advertising and the media.
There is something inherently dignified about the naked human body, no matter its age, weight, race, gender athleticism or distinct lack thereof. The constant sexualisation of the human body through fashion, advertising and the media does little to diminish this dignity but in its perpetuation of highly exclusive, unattainable images of the body it skews our sense of the very bodies we inhabit. This is a deeply problematic issue with far reaching social, psychological, and economic consequences. It also happens to be the formidable context in which life classes continue to exist and one which life drawing itself struggles to address as a medium, but perhaps not as an experience
I’m due to be part of an interview panel tomorrow and as a way to standardise the interview process and increase fairness, a number of fixed questions have been prepared by a member of the so called “Human Resources” department. Presumably as a consequence of this standardisation process some of the questions have become very generic and uninspiring. One of them asks the interviewees to give an example of when they motivated others - yawn! But perhaps the quality of the question is of small importance – the point of questions after all, is to elicit answers and inspiring answers can arise from even the most impoverished questions.
It stands to reason that, amongst other things, teachers are in the business of motivating students. Without motivation there’s little impetus to do anything, so clearly it’s important to be motivated and if this motivation can be instilled by teachers, all the better. But how hard is this really - because it seems to me that motivating people is actually one of the most fundamental forms of social action? Surely simply by caring and showing that we care, so long as these sentiments are welcome, we motivate people to reciprocate – to care too and to act on this caring. There is nothing new in this and it’s certainly not a particularly unique skill. Yes, some people have an ability to motivate people to a much greater degree than others and yes, it’s good to leave students feeling positive about their work and aspirations, but ultimately motivation has to come from within - to be self-motivation, especially if it is to be enduring and useful to students. This is why motivating others should only be a by-product of the work that teachers do with students rather than being an end in itself - we’re not life-coaches after all, much as it might sometimes feel as though we are. If we focus too much of our attention on motivation we risk loosing the particularity and specificity of what we have to offer and we’ll also tend to dilute or avoid altogether the more challenging or daunting lessons which are so important for the maturing artist.
One of the most difficult to master but least acknowledged skills of being an art teacher is the ability to modulate frankness with tact. But why do we need tact and why are students so wary of being critical with one another?
Early in my career as an art teacher I once made the naïve mistake of thinking that it would be wise (!) simply to be frank in all my critical opinions. During one memorable critique I expressed an honest but unguarded evaluation of a particular student’s work and in the days, weeks and months which followed it became clear that any possible rapport, which might once have been cultivated, was now unthinkable.
Good teaching, as well as good learning, requires mutual respect but how this is gained, won or earned by teachers is of vital importance. We’ve all encountered or heard of imposing teachers who “command” great respect from their students. In my experience this tends to have more to do with assumed authority and power (and, of course, the way it is wielded) rather than any special ability such teachers have to cultivate learning. Certainly it gets peoples attention and to that extent it works – but perhaps it’s more of a proverbial stick than a carrot. Other teachers possess a different kind of reputation gained through successful art practice or occasionally through outstanding pedagogy. This fame, whether putative or deserved, literally precedes them and often on the basis of this alone they receive respect (admiration even) without having to prove themselves anew each time they work with new students. For the rest of us mere mortals though, it’s more a case of having to earn respect through the demonstration of knowledge, skill and/or experience and this takes time to establish.
Without respect, teaching and learning become little more than farcical. Mutual respect gives both students and tutors the confidence to trust that their communications with one another will be taken seriously. As respect builds, it becomes increasingly possible to be frank in one’s criticisms without fear that such remarks will cause offence. This is not to say that there’s no longer a need for tact – there is always a need to moderate strong opinion with sensitivity to its likely impact – but as trust and understanding grow so too does the realisation that tact can sometimes mask, or even worse obscure, valuable insight and advice.
Search for quotes on “frankness” and at the top of the list you’ll probably find Tennessee Williams:
“All cruel people describe themselves as paragons of frankness.”
Undoubtedly this is very often the case, but the reverse is not necessarily so: frankness is not, in itself, cruel. When well judged, frank comments can lead to rapid understanding of the cause of problems or difficulties. They can also help avoid wasted time and effort and lead to new solutions and more sophisticated outcomes. However, frankness is not always well judged and like any unvarnished opinion, no matter how plain and simple it appears, should never be confused with truth. It’s a common mistake to identify it as such, because concise statements - and frankness is nothing if not concise - invariably present themselves as unmediated truths.
Tact, on the other hand, demands consideration not just of the individual to which it is directed but also of the issues at hand. It requires us to analyse our opinions and find appropriate form for expressing them. Tact is not without its drawbacks though: too much tact can cushion criticism to such an extent or meander down such circuitous routes that very little value can be gained from trying to follow its convolutions. Judging the appropriate balance of tact and frankness therefore is crucial. Too frank and we risk conjuring truths from unexamined falsehood. Too tactful and we risk making no point at all.
When dealing with one another’s work, students frequently have to negotiate this difficult terrain and in the process they must decide how to proceed. In the context of group critique this becomes doubly difficult because each student is understandably sensitive to the ways their comments may be perceived by other members of the group. This fear of repercussions, particularly of appearing tactless, frequently leads students to err on the side of positivity and to leave all potentially negative comments unmentioned. Of course, there’s an irony here, because such “constructive comments” are often to some degree selfish in nature since they seek to protect not the individual to whom they are directed but the originators themselves. The other unfortunate consequence of such comments is that they actually omit genuinely “constructive” observations altogether. This is why teachers and the distance that their role confers upon them are so important. Such distance gives teachers the liberty to speak their minds but with it comes the significant responsibility to always modulate frankness with an appropriate quantum of tact.
Balls are pretty interactive things aren’t they? Many of us spend a substantial amount of time interacting with balls of different kinds – mostly through games and sports and frequently with the participation of other people. We kick them around, bounce them on the ground and other surfaces, catch them, chase after them and generally attempt to predict and control their complex motions and interactions. Is this really interaction though, and are these balls really acting “with” us or simply reacting to our physical input or will, as Kaspar Hauser’s benefactor would have it (see previous blog entry: "Ein Kluges Apfelchen")?
So what does this mean for interactive art or more specifically, what does this mean for digital interactive art?
Much of what passes for digital interactive art is actually little more interactive than a ball game: you click the mouse and something changes, you move across a room and a video plays or something revolves, or rises and falls or a light switches on or off. This is not to say that the associated artwork cannot be edifying, enlightening or inspiring but this significance invariably has precious little to do with interactivity as such.
This is the challenge - because without intelligence dynamically feeding it, digital interactive art will always be little more than a novelty in terms of its interactive capabilities. As ever “content”, rather than the means of delivery is paramount. I don’t doubt for a moment that the relationship between content and form is a highly complex one (far too complex for discussion here) but if digital interactive art is to genuinely engage us, then it needs to construct it’s significance out of something quite different than interactivity alone.
The following is an edited version of an email sent to a student who queried a low mark he’d received for failing to present sketchbook work and evidence of research for assessment. He wrote a lengthy disgruntled email in which he also suggested that in future he could instead submit “fake sudokus and evening puzzles”. I’ve removed all personal references which makes it read a little more awkwardly than the original but I stand by my sentiment:
