Once of the most popular discussions in modern art has always been the debate of what constitutes art. When anyone seeks to break new boundaries, it is the first thing that the media latches on to - how can this be art?
Great art does two things; it reflects the society in which it was created and it also reflects the person who created it. Sometimes the first function is difficult to achieve but the main stay of all artist work is the sense of personality trodden into it, either on the outside or buried deeply below on the inside.
The best two examples that I can think of in the 20th Century to illustrate my point are Andy Warhol and Tracey Emin - two of the artists that have produced hysterical reactions about their work at the time of release.
The image of a tin of Campbell's soup remains one of the most iconic pictures of the 1960s. At the time, it provoked a widespread debate about whether or not it was art (and by the same token, worthy of the substantial price tag hanging from it) and the popular consensus at the time was that it was not.
Going back to my previous two factors, Warhol satisfies both. The Campbell’s soup tin, Brillo pad boxes or Coke cans perfectly reflect the rising commercialism and commoditisation of the 1960s, the rise of branding and youth culture. The line to the personality of Warhol is less clear, but if you read many of the accounts of his life, the relationship with his Mother is one of the strongest ties
Many eyewitnesses have detailed how from his youth right the way through to his Mother's death, she used to make him Tomato Soup for his lunch. Even in the heady times in the Factory, where sex and drugs and art constantly overlapped, Warhol's mother lived with him and fed him soup. My argument is that the painting of the soup can reflected not only the rising commoditisation of the decade, but also commoditised Warhol's painful adolescence.
Fast forward to Britain in the middle 1990s, where the heady cocktails of sex, drugs and drink were lived not only by the rich but also by ordinary people. Tracey Emin was, to all intents and purposes, an ordinary young woman of the time. She was loud, argumentative, off the rails. Living in a London beset in the aftermath of a Brit-Pop and social revolution, her work is as much a product of the times as a reflection of it.
Her two most controversial 1990s works, My Bed and Tent, were both maliciously attacked by all sides of the press for not fitting in the traditional art stereotype. Their reaction was simple: This is not art.
In reality, My Bed (pictured above) - which won her the Turner Prize in 1999 - was a filthy, horrific piece of work that beautifully summed up both her life at that point and I can't think of a better analogy of the decay of society and modern living. I really feel that in decades time this will be seen as a great portrayal of the time.
The unique selling point however was that for all it reflected a society on the brink of degradation; it was intrinsically Emin’s world that it inhabited. It's hard to imagine another artist being able to produce not only such a brilliant concept but also for it to be done as brutally or as real. Not least because there was a significant amount of Emin's bodily fluid involved.
Ultimately, art becomes art if the person creating it suggests it is; if the piece means something (either conceptually or emotionally) and the chances are, if people are talking about it then it's art. People never have this debate about things that mean nothing.
Great art does two things; it reflects the society in which it was created and it also reflects the person who created it. Sometimes the first function is difficult to achieve but the main stay of all artist work is the sense of personality trodden into it, either on the outside or buried deeply below on the inside.
The best two examples that I can think of in the 20th Century to illustrate my point are Andy Warhol and Tracey Emin - two of the artists that have produced hysterical reactions about their work at the time of release.
The image of a tin of Campbell's soup remains one of the most iconic pictures of the 1960s. At the time, it provoked a widespread debate about whether or not it was art (and by the same token, worthy of the substantial price tag hanging from it) and the popular consensus at the time was that it was not.
Going back to my previous two factors, Warhol satisfies both. The Campbell’s soup tin, Brillo pad boxes or Coke cans perfectly reflect the rising commercialism and commoditisation of the 1960s, the rise of branding and youth culture. The line to the personality of Warhol is less clear, but if you read many of the accounts of his life, the relationship with his Mother is one of the strongest ties
Many eyewitnesses have detailed how from his youth right the way through to his Mother's death, she used to make him Tomato Soup for his lunch. Even in the heady times in the Factory, where sex and drugs and art constantly overlapped, Warhol's mother lived with him and fed him soup. My argument is that the painting of the soup can reflected not only the rising commoditisation of the decade, but also commoditised Warhol's painful adolescence.
Fast forward to Britain in the middle 1990s, where the heady cocktails of sex, drugs and drink were lived not only by the rich but also by ordinary people. Tracey Emin was, to all intents and purposes, an ordinary young woman of the time. She was loud, argumentative, off the rails. Living in a London beset in the aftermath of a Brit-Pop and social revolution, her work is as much a product of the times as a reflection of it.
Her two most controversial 1990s works, My Bed and Tent, were both maliciously attacked by all sides of the press for not fitting in the traditional art stereotype. Their reaction was simple: This is not art.
In reality, My Bed (pictured above) - which won her the Turner Prize in 1999 - was a filthy, horrific piece of work that beautifully summed up both her life at that point and I can't think of a better analogy of the decay of society and modern living. I really feel that in decades time this will be seen as a great portrayal of the time.
The unique selling point however was that for all it reflected a society on the brink of degradation; it was intrinsically Emin’s world that it inhabited. It's hard to imagine another artist being able to produce not only such a brilliant concept but also for it to be done as brutally or as real. Not least because there was a significant amount of Emin's bodily fluid involved.
Ultimately, art becomes art if the person creating it suggests it is; if the piece means something (either conceptually or emotionally) and the chances are, if people are talking about it then it's art. People never have this debate about things that mean nothing.
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