Books That Make You Think About Art

It is an easy assumption to make that the best books for making you think about art are strictly art books. This is true to an extent, but one can also argue that fiction and other genres shed light on art in different ways. A strong narrative is normally central to both mediums, as is some strange emotive power that keeps us relating, provoked and inquisitive. The places where these forces lend themselves to each other, and where their  shared contexts and relevant sentiments are eked out are really fascinating. I think we can say that text and art are a match made in heaven; that they can exist in that Millennial dream of an uplifting, mutually respectful and completely equal relationship.

This is a list of 5 books that have made me think a bit harder about art, its contexts and its purposes.

The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker / Women and Power by Mary Beard 

Okay, so I lied - this is two books under the pretence of one. However, they are closely related as both hark back to Graeco-Roman women and explore, as you might have guessed, the systemic silencing of women in those ages. Whilst Barker's novel explores the story of Briseis, Achilles’ wife and bed-servant during the Trojan War, Mary Beard's non-fiction text draws on myths from the Ancient World and relates them to the present experience of women. It's harrowing to see that not much has changed. 

Both texts often look to tapestry as women's mode of expression: Briseis spends her days consigned to weaving whilst she grapples with grief, isolation and rape. Beard refers to the myth of Philomela, who is brutally raped, has her tongue cut out so she cannot speak what has happened, and has to weave a tapestry of events to tell her sister.

It's interesting how all these horrific experiences faced by women, as well as their whole lives, remain confined to the domestic sphere. Historically, tapestry (often one of the only skills taught to women, who were largely illiterate) was a way in which women could express their lives, their grief and rage. It was also just written off as something decorative and homely, although probably any art form adopted by women would default as lesser. And so, whilst men obviously never historically paid much attention to these tapestries (or women's lives) and carried on living as if determined to rekindle man's brutish days of origin, with the right attention we can take a lot from the stories of women hidden away under a domestic/ homely glaze. 

Olga Frantskevich, Child of War, 2018

An artist that this makes me think about is USSR-born Olga Frantskevich, who lived under German occupation until age 7. Frantskevich's work uses tapestry to highlight her childhood memories, and harrowing stories of war. There are soldiers, and children smiling and dancing in contradiction. Maybe she knows that we are coming to tapestries, so often hidden away under that nice, domestic veneer, with an expectation of comfort. In this case, disrupting that with very explicit imagery of destruction, or using the bright, child-like colours regardless of whether the scene is children dancing or soldiers grimly marching off to war, is pointed. Frantskevich forces us to recognise that tapestry is a powerful medium and it would be ridiculous to assume otherwise.

The Great Gatsby by F Scott Fitzgerald

One of my favourite aspects of The Great Gatsby is the Marxist aspect. That is, that the "American Dream" is redundant: whilst Gatsby has the self-made wealth to equal other members of the American elite, he does not have the inherent status, respect or years of well-accumulated patina to stand alongside them. We see that his "New Money" will forever be sneered at by the "Old Money" like that of Tom and Daisy. Old Money close the door behind them, look inwards to their own centuries old code of rules, behaviour and acceptable pursuits and above all, bar social mobility.  

One of these "acceptable pursuits" might well be engaging with "high-brow" intellectual matter like art. Art is a valuable form of cultural capital - knowledge that confers social status and power. The elite can write the rules of taste, bestow value onto select works and artists, and keep the art world as a nice, gate-kept community. A clear example of how these powers work is the houses in Gatsby; the Buchanan's house is a well aged, respected period home, whilst Gatsby's version of a Chateau is seen as tacky and inauthentic. 

Bansky has been claimed by the liberal elite, and graffiti is constantly appropriated in graphics and ad-campaigns. In most other contexts, it's looked down on - councils trip over themselves to scrub it off walls unless it's of something diabolical like portraits of the police force (my favourite example from my town). Barbara Kruger's artwork was subversive and provocative until Supreme came along and used the exact same style for their branding, complete with a price hike up that a) undermined her Marxist messages and b) suddenly made her aesthetic mainstream - which makes it more respected in some ways, and less by the Art World™ in others.

Barbara Kruger, I Shop Therefore I am, 1987

Both Gatsby and these examples highlight the powers that shape "taste" in art, as hypocritical and often protective of elitist interests. 

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath 

The Bell Jar is a quintessential postmodern text, exploring Zeitgeist social anxieties, as well as themes like individualism and the pressure wrought upon women.  Esther, the protagonist, is a tragic figure; searching for meaning and a sense of purpose, but increasingly disillusioned with expectations like education, marriage, and her career. Despite the people that superficially surround her, Esther is an extremely isolated figure who cannot identify with anybody - eventually spiralling into very poor mental health. 

This prevailing sentiment of isolation and search for purpose in the text relates strongly to art made under the same social and contextual banners of anxiety. I think Esther and Christina in Andrew Wyeth's painting, Christina's World, could form worthy substitutes for each other. Whilst in Christina's World, Christina's isolation is much more spatially and physically exaggerated; she is literally alone, lying on the floor and reaching agonisingly for a house in the distance, I reckon similar tensions and thought processes hang over both women.

Andrew Wyeth, Christina's World, 1948

The tension I find most prevalent in both characters is a sense of yearning. In both cases, it also seems redundant. Christina stretches towards the house, although we have no indication that this cold, gloomily lit hut in the distance will offer her the comfort she needs. The landscape around her is barren and unforgiving. Her yearning seems foolish - there is no place of warmth in the painting. Perhaps even worse, we get the impression that Esther doesn't even really know what she's reaching for and turns to self-destruction as respite. The problem here is that self-destruction will never enable her to find her purpose. 

Maybe The Bell Jar gives us a stronger picture, or reference framework, of the more specific events and events that Christina maybe facing. However, both works form a powerful image of what it means, in a society progressing faster than its needs, to be a woman wanting to be understood.  It is striking how universal their experiences are, given the focus put onto the individual. Esther's story and Christina's suggestion of that form a collective push in the right direction, towards empathy and recognition. Moreover, I think this is a great example of how more clarity is given to experiences seen in both art and text. 

Les Enfants Terribles by Jean Cocteau

This is probably one of the weirdest books I have ever read. It is a key proponent of Surrealism, and was written in France in the late 1920s by General Visionary™, Jean Cocteau. Surrealism is a powerful tool and weapon - Cocteau uses it, in all its glory, to poke holes and extract information from the complex and mundane in ways we would not otherwise be able to.

My favourite aspect of this novel was how Cocteau completely and utterly deconstructed the notion of the typical family. This was then used to explore the main characters' imagination and resultant attitudes to power. Paul and Elisabeth, the siblings at the core of the story, have no father and their mother dies shortly into the text. Moving forward, adults have very little input into the lives of these children - the house is their domain where they rule. Days are spent in their bedroom with their friend, Gerard, "playing pretend" and deeply engrossed in a psychological game with each other where the goal is always to one-up the other. This inevitably ends in death. Cocteau points out that "playing pretend" can be just as valid and have just as real consequences as things that aren't "pretend". The machinations and instruments of power are usually the same. 

Removing Paul and Elisabeth entirely from the classic image of family leaves them with powerful, unbridled imaginations - particularly in contrast to Gerard. They really do have so much fun until it all goes a bit South. I think one of the questions Cocteau asks is: why should we shy away from "childish" things? Is it such a bad thing to have fun when the consequences are the same either way? 

I began thinking about the classical family portrait, and how it is in complete contrast to Cocteau's authorial intention. The family portrait seems synonymous with the constraints on a child's imagination caused by a typical family model (continued adult presence). One of the clearest modes through which these "constraints" are expressed is a portrait's materiality. Of course, these stylistic and material constraints are seen in other art of shared movements and contexts. However, there seemed something interesting about applying the constraint of adult presence in real life into the context of a family portrait.

I found this great picture online of Gortzius Geldorp's family portrait from 1598.

Gortzious Geldorp's Family Portrait, 1598

Aside from how perfectly neat and precise the brushwork is - delicately evoking the feel and touch of fur and glistening the jewels in strict abidance to realism, I find it most striking how literally contained the children are. They are seemingly stuck in the bottom third of the painting, neatly arranged in height order, and giving the same facial expression. In fact, the features of their face seem almost identical - and not just in a "siblings that look similar way".

It seems a very lazy portrayal as the only thing really differing them is their head-wear and heights. But then, this might be because of the father, looming over them all. He is marked by his jet black jacket and well-defined, distinct face as an austere, strict and powerful figure. There is no affection coming from him, and all the attention drives up to the focal point of his face. These children appear complimentary objects. They'd probably be having a lot more fun, and less reason to look so miserable without those ruffs, let alone his slightly terrifying presence. 

So, this portrait is a good example of some children who look like they'd be having a lot more fun without Dad there. Power undercuts most things - this father certainly looks into it - and, as Cocteau suggests, even a child's game has power at its core. But, a child's game would have imagination, and be joyous, which is a power of its own. If it all ends the same way, why not? You wouldn't have a frown like Gortzious.

Of course, imagination is also the best friend of progress. It's nice to see that art has had a bit more "fun" since these portraits, and developed new movements through playfulness (see; Impressionism, Expressionism, SURREALISM). In defence of over-the-top imaginations, this is all good news. 

Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh 

Brideshead Revisited confronts the role of faith in shaping someone's identity and values. The faith in question is Catholicism, which is wielded by scorned mother Lady Marchmain to her own ends (disrupting marriages, alienating her son, you get the picture). However, the book is also a love letter to the faith. Waugh, the writer, was himself a Catholic and gushed about it in the paper and in his correspondence. The power and influence bestowed to the faith by Waugh is, I believe, highly revealing of the iconic power religious imagery can posses and how it can pervade many aspects of life.

From a historical standpoint, in the UK, many of the laws and articles enacted during the Reformation specifically targeted religious artefacts in churches, like windows, and called for the destruction of religious images (iconoclasm). This would suggest that one of the most distinct and everyday aspects of Catholicism is its art and imagery (this seeps into Charles's - the narrators - descriptions of Brideshead). It's fascinating that Catholicism then, after the Reformation, became the religion of the English Country House; preserved in private by those with money enough to resist religious change.

For a religion often synonymous with power and strong aesthetics, it's really interesting to think about how Catholic art's iconic features are preserved in modern contexts and retain their synonymy with wealth. My "reference point" for this book is a more abstract one - The 2018 Met Gala,  of which the theme was "Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination". Obviously, celebrities are wealthy people - so it's not hard to argue with Catholicism equals wealth in this case. But, the fact that the faith was put specifically into the context of Haute Couture and High Fashion means it was recognised specifically for its look and motifs. Stained Glass window takes were everywhere - Rihanna's play on the Pope's outfit, embossed with pearls and gold, was particularly striking and played straight into the theme.

Rihanna wears Margiela to the 2018 Met Gala

Taking a faith out the context of its religious values and making it into a red carpet look gives it the strange type of cultural capital that the Art World may look and nod appreciatively at, regardless of whether it is correct to do so. It draws specific attention to the stylistic approval it has received from  elite purveyors of taste. All things considered, this would suggest that Henry VIII's articles way back in the day are still sort of relevant: the look and feel of Catholicism is just as important to onlookers as ever.

Closing Note 

It would appear I am incapable of writing something short. Thank you for sticking with this, if you got this far, and I hope you might have enjoyed some of my ramblings or ideas. I am always surprised by how many more ways you can think about art, or a book, if you hold one up to the other. And by how many more ways stem off from those more ways. I think they can look deep into each other's eyes and have a deep and meaningful chat. The stuff mid-teen sleepovers are made of.

Mia x