Chapter 1: The Origin of Art

1a. Why define art?

Interestingly, the pursuit of a definition of art appears to have to be preceded by a justification for doing so. This does not seem to be a general requirement in classificatory quests of human sciences, let alone in natural sciences; one might suspect that the recognition of the existence of a phenomenon would be enough of a reason to examine it more closely and thereby gain a better understanding of it. That there are apparently different rules applying to art often says more about the people trying to define art rather than art itself. Exactly the tendency to view art as an evaluative term seems to be the cause of this, seeing as how a given definition is sought to help separate certain kinds of art from others – the “good” art from the “bad” art, the latter consequently not being art at all, simply because it does not meet the requirements of the definition. Such an evaluative approach seems highly unscientific, and it would be difficult to imagine, say, a biologist discarding certain members of a species simply because they are not exemplary or at least of a certain standard. On the contrary, it is believed to be much more exciting for a biologist when discoveries of deviant instances are made, since they have the potential to increase the understanding of the field of study greatly. This thesis represents such an attitude towards art, rather than one that puts personal taste at the forefront.

A perfect example of the latter is the theory of David Favrholdt. In his response to the question “Why define art?” he speaks of a “philosophical motivation”, a term that in and of itself is not inappropriate. He has had his personal experience with art and wonders what art then is: “What the deuce is it that to such a degree makes me shiver, makes me happy, edifies me, comforts me in the middle of all the horrors of the world?”⁴ He openly declares that he takes it personally when his detractors claim that the validity of his personal experience is at stake: “When philosophers come running and claim that everything is art, then, to me, that is a provocation – yes, even a personal insult – without comparison. It cannot be true, and thus art must be possible to separate from non-art. Somewhere a border must exist.”⁵ The result, as it will be highly evident later on, is a take on art that is directly evaluative, revealing a fairly conservative taste in art and a strong distaste for certain kinds of modern art. When read as simply the writings of an offended man who thinks the world of art has gone awry, Favrholdt’s words have plenty to offer, but as a theory it lacks coherence.

To shed light on a different position under this topic, consider the following two statements – the first one by Thierry de Duve: “Personally, I am totally unable to speak of art as a generality, without showing or naming a specimen. I don’t know what art is, I have no general, conceptual definition for art. But I know a work of art when I see one.”⁶

The next by Søren Kjørup, taken from the opening chapter (In English: “What is art?”) of his book (In English: Aesthetic Problems): “I am not going to define ‘art’ in this chapter – or anywhere else in this book. Why should I? Why should one ever give a definition of ‘art’? The peculiar thing is that, although many regard the question about what art is as a highly important one, we all know perfectly well what art is.”⁷

Though not identical, both statements advocate a case-by-case understanding of art, not least made clear when Kjørup goes on to separate works by Shakespeare, Beethoven and others – art – from everyday objects such as a typewriter and a newspaper – non-art.⁸ The term “hard case” has been used by others to describe pieces that fall along the border between art and non-art, and which are thus useful in the quest for the definition of art. Kjørup’s examples are obviously soft cases that only point to what just about everyone already agrees on.

When de Duve is able to know a work of art when he sees one, it can only be because he has some sort of general awareness of art in general, although not phrased in such explicit terms that he is able to readily quote it. Kjørup points out this general awareness and applies it to everyone; “we all know perfectly well what art is”. A statement that has the best chance of ringing true when the discussion is limited to uncontroversial examples like the ones he lists.

Kjørup elaborates on his view: “The things that surround us in our everyday lives, which our everyday language has words for and thus somewhat automatically places into practical ways for us to use them, have no pre-existing definitions. And this is also true for art and artworks. Only on the relatively rare occasion when it feels important to determine whether or not something our language not clearly designates as being an artwork or not is indeed an artwork, do we even need definitions. But of course one could ask why it would ever even be felt as that necessary do determine whether something can be called an ‘artwork’ or not. Does the thing become better by our doing so?”⁹

The “thing”, in and of itself, does not become “better”, but obviously our understanding of it and the phenomenon it is an instance of has the potential of improving when its classification is done correctly. Kjørup appears to agree with this, as he points out that how we label things affect how we deal with them.¹⁰ An example to illustrate the perspective on this issue presented in this thesis can be given through a simple analogy:

A car that can barely drive is still a car. Even if it is barely recognizable as a car, the understanding of it is constituted through the articulation and labelling of it as a car, and, as an object, its qualities are thus judged through the label it is given. In the same way with art: If something is called art, this determines the understanding and judgment of it, illustrating why a definition and understanding of art is (also) important.

Kjørup also discusses whether or not art is a descriptive term, like “milk bottle”, or a normative one, like “justice” or “beauty”.¹¹ He says it is the latter, and refuses that this choice is dependent on what definition is given of art, though the opposite will obviously be claimed here: It is entirely dependent on the perspective of art that is currently being operated with, and, as will continually be argued, art, ideally, is not a normative term.

Kjørup’s argumentation continues as he rhetorically asks: “Do we even need to define art (in the situations where a definition is even needed) as something that has such and such properties and is valuable, and must be met with high esteem, etc.?”¹² His implied answer is “yes”, as he goes on to say that “if we define ‘art’ in this way [that is, the opposite way], then it is not the term ‘art’, which we have and use in our everyday language, that is being defined and thus clarified; because this term happens to be normative.”¹³

In short: Because “art” is used by some (most, if not all, according to Kjørup) in the normative sense, then that must be the correct and proper use. Kjørup might be right in his observation – that everyday language tends to address “art” as a normative, or evaluative, term. It seems a little easy, however, to let everyday language dictate what kind of language is correct and what is wrong, and Kjørup generally gives too much credit to it, since, quite obviously, everyday language consists of a vast plurality of subjective takes on the world and the meanings of the words in it. These meanings might very well be overlapping to the extent of some perceived universalism in the meaning of certain words, though they are of course never truly identical across the board.

Kjørup’s view on this matter is backed up by George Dickie, who, when discussing terms like “artist” and “work of art”, points out that, according to him, we learn such terms at a “tender age”, and we learn them “together as a set”.¹⁴

He elaborates on his view: “Art teachers and parents teach children how to be artists and how to display their work. Children are taught how to draw and color and how to put their drawing on the refrigerator for others to see. What children are taught are basic cultural roles of which every competent member of our society has at least a rudimentary understanding. These cultural roles are, I believe, invented very early on in primitive societies and persist through time into all structured societies.”¹⁵

Dickie’s view is unsurprisingly convenient when it comes to supporting his famously circular Institutional Theory of Art, which attempts to define the relationship between the various elements of the institution of art, rather than art itself. Dickie needs, then, to have his central terms be somewhat universal and prevalent even in primitive societies, because if they were not, he would have had to face the problems this thesis is about to face.

He repeats his point in an even simpler form: “When an adult hears ‘artist’ and ‘work of art’, they hear words that they have known the meaning of for a very long time.” There is no doubt that there is some basic understanding of “art” and related terms that potentially overlaps, across cultures and countries and even continents, but that this should be an argument that such terms need no further definition seems strange.

Surely there are similar overlaps with terms like “sex” or “religion”. It might not be hard to find very basic agreement about what sex or a religion is across a handful of cultures, but to say that therefore we need not bother with definitions of such terms would be to refrain from approaching highly valuable scientific insights, that is, if the goal of science is to understand our world as thoroughly as possible. Even if art, sex and religion all transcend the borders of any singular culture, it only makes it that much more important to try and go beyond the cultural constructions that have emerged from these phenomena.

1b. The evolution of art

Art is one product of creative thought.

There are many products of creative thought, and only in a place genuinely untouched by the intelligence of the living mind would it be possible to look around and not witness the massive evidence of creativity. Creative thinking is understood here in its most direct and uncontroversial form; the ability to produce ideas and to intellectually approach a problem or challenge with the purpose of solving or circumventing it. When natural objects are turned into tools for hunting and building, the creative mind is at work, just as when paths and roads are made to ensure faster transportation and easily recognizable paths, or a shelter is made to provide protection from gruesome weather.

Overall, creative thinking provides itself as a tool to further the well-being of living creatures. These classic examples portray fairly simple ways of this. As societies evolved over thousands of years, the main motivation for creative thinking has still been furthering the well-being of, if not society at whole, then at least whoever does the thinking or a given group or social context, which the given individual belongs to. Any institution, ideology or invention has had as its prime objective to somehow make life better for someone. Not necessarily everyone, but definitely someone. Be it a church, a political movement or a transportation vehicle. A school, a sexual revolution, or a communication device. Whoever thought out the plans, physicalities and parameters of any of these, obviously did so through the powers of creativity.

When it comes to understanding art as a product of creative thought, one must not remove art away from the notion that all creative thought is, in and of itself, motivated by an urge to improve life. Not necessarily in any direct way, or even consciously, but in the context of the understanding that there are no selfless acts: There are plenty of acts that benefit others, but the main motivation of performing such acts is that they are, in one way or another, beneficial to the individual who performs them. Perhaps because the consequences of not performing them seem unbearable, perhaps because there is an expected payback, or perhaps because it might genuinely feel good to do good – or even bad. Whatever the reason, there is always one. No individual ever acts against its own well-being or self-preservation instinct. Intended suicides only happen because the individual has managed to convince itself that it is the less painful option available. That is the view held here.

How, then, does art appear to improve life for the person who practices it? In a very simple way: It fulfils a given desire of the mind. A desire, which is a symptom of the highly evolved state of the mind, where creative thinking is not merely something to assist basic survival, but something that cannot wilfully be brought to a halt and thus, so to speak, has the mind intellectually entertaining itself. From such a state of mind, any given idea can emerge. Some are processed and evolve into directly purposeful things, as the previously given examples. Others are merely a flicker of the mental light bulb, while yet others result in the production of art.

Art, as it will continuously be argued in this thesis, is not limited in any physical, temporal or conceptual way. “Everything can be art”, and thus the only limitation of art is that it is not something else. While present Western discourses revolving around art have only evolved over the past few centuries, the term is used here to go backwards and beyond this period of time and understand much older instances to be art as well, whether they have, so far, been regarded specifically as “art” within present discourses or not.

This leads to a clarification, which is essential to the perspective on art presented in this thesis: A rigid division between what is art and what is not is in no way the goal. On the contrary, it is believed that a continued discussion of the grey areas between art and everything else should be celebrated. The goal is, rather, to present a more fruitful and agreeable framework for the discussion to take place within than is presently available. Such a framework is built around the notion that while everything can be art, it does not mean that it is no longer possible to distinguish between art and non-art. It is indeed possible, although it is not as simple as listing a set of parameters, as theorists have previously done, and then going through them to see if one is dealing with art or not. Nor is it as simple as judging an instance and then labelling it art if it falls within one’s subjective taste.

While the creative processes that lead to the production of art are happening naturally, all art should be considered culturally. It is sheer logic that no piece of art can exist without a cultural context, nor can any view on art. Thus, any such view is bound to the culture it is part of, which then obviously holds true for this one, too, and all the ones that will be discussed throughout the thesis, all of which are part of the overall field of study; the aesthetics and culture of Western societies after 1750. While no theory will ever truly escape the grasp of the culture it is part of, there is, however, the hope that, by basing this theory on this very understanding, it will be possible at least to have a peak beyond Western traditions, and thereby realize that the way art is generally dealt with in Western societies – by being bought and sold, exhibited and viewed in museums and galleries, with plenty of focus on the individual producer of art and the market he is part of – is merely the result of one aspect of the cultural evolution that has taken place since the dawn of man.¹⁶

An evolution that has happened much like Darwin describes the evolution of species, and is, of course, tied directly together with evolution as such, since the creative abilities of Homo sapiens are attributes that have emerged naturally through evolution along with all others. What is derived from Darwin and used in this context, is the notion that there is such a thing as creative thinking that is a required component of art, a brief evolutionary overview of which will be given here.¹⁷

The analogy is that the production, appreciation and understanding of art have evolved in a way that resembles the way species develop. Darwin’s theory describes how all living beings are related and thus have a common ancestor, and that the more closely two species resemble each other, the more recent is their ancestor. It will not be claimed here that there is any original piece of art, which all other pieces of art then somehow stem from. Rather, it will be noted that various art practices will emerge independently from each other, seeing as how the entity that all art stems from is not a piece of art, but rather the creative ability within any individual.

Evolutionary biologist David Sloan Wilson says that “the very existence of art begs to be explained in evolutionary terms” and points out that “artistic expression has all the earmarks of a genetically evolved capability: It appears early in life, is enjoyable for its own sake, exists across all cultures, and is mediated by ancient neural pathways in our brain”¹⁸. As for the reason art became part of human evolution, evolutionary psychologist Geoffrey Miller suggests that “art evolved as a way for potential mates to show off their intellectual fitness”¹⁹.

This ability and subsequent urge to express it appear to have been had by Homo sapiens for as long as the species has existed – 250,000 years – with plenty of pre-historic evidence emerging, especially after 20,000 B.C.²⁰, with one of the most convincing examples being the Lascaux caves in France²¹. By this time, humans had inhabited all continents except for Antarctica, and archaeologists have found pre-historic art on all of these²². This is regarded, in this context, as proof of the human ability to express creativity within any given culture, and the actual pieces give no reason to believe that they should somehow stem from any original piece of art, as opposed to being part of traditions that have developed naturally and independently from each other, with general human creativity as the only common denominator.

Art has no specific, overall goal or purpose – that is, aside from stimulating the mind of whomever that could not help but make it, perhaps but not necessarily motivated by a desire to show off “intellectual fitness”. It just happens, and whenever anyone claims that art has a specific goal – to please the senses of an audience, to honour a deity, to revolutionize society, or whatever it might be – then that is merely the expression of how art has adapted to a culture, and vice versa. Like family patterns, culinary traditions and religions differ between cultures, as does the approach to art. Whatever part art plays in society, it is a culturally constructed one; constructed throughout a history too complex to ever fully comprehend by anyone, but one where the technological advances, economics, politics and religion – among many other factors – will have played integral parts in the shaping of this role, just as art plays an integral part in shaping any given society. They are all components of a machinery that is impossible to understand thoroughly if either of them is removed.

This points to how art is generally practiced in Western societies today, where art is often presented with at least a metaphorical price tag. The value of art – be it a classic painting, a pop song or a state-funded street art project – tends to be determined through monetary measurements. University professors and their students vividly discuss the definition of art, while the producers of art generally have a high awareness of the academic battles and thus try to break down the barriers of what art can be said to be. Many individual producers of art become celebrities and are outspoken on political issues, while social capitalist governments treasure freedom of speech and aesthetic expression while giving financial aid to selected producers of art and projects. Pro-religious content in art has diminished as societies have become increasingly secularised, and pieces of art often have meta-artistic characteristics, if they are not entirely self-referential.

Having art play this highly complex part – which could obviously be elaborated on endlessly – is not something art in some strange way had any urge on its own to do, but rather something that, like it was stated before, just happened. Any change in the surrounding factors – say, if art-friendly left-wing politicians had not had as much luck getting elected, or if science had not triumphed as strongly over religion – then art would have played an entirely different role in society. Had producers of art not been able to convince those in more power than themselves that their work should be supported and presented through means of large-scale exhibitions and mass-production, then entire industries, government plans and media outlets would not have had as much – if anything – to revolve around. No individuals as such can be held accountable for the way society as a whole has evolved. The evolution of a society is very much, to paraphrase Giddens, like a somewhat unsteerable juggernaut, where any perception of truly controlling it is rather a deception.

As Western societies evolved, so did art within them. Any individual society or culture – Western or otherwise – obviously has its own evolutionary history, as does any art practice within that society, as does every participant – be it a producer of art, a curator, a collector, a gallery visitor, a professor, or whomever – within every art practice. This points to the immense complexity of any given society – let alone the world at large, which it is part of – but to summarize, it is attempted to break the previous discussion down into three general statements:

• Homo sapiens possesses the ability of creative thinking, which leads to, among several things, art.
• Homo sapiens has the potential to produce some form of art within any given society, as creative thinking happens naturally, but the production of art must always be understood culturally, as it cannot happen outside a cultural context.
• How art is dealt with within a given society is entirely reliant on the evolutionary history of that society.

Now, this perspective on art makes this thesis, or at least this chapter, the equivalent of part two an imagined three-volume series. Part one would cover that which is assumed here: That Homo sapiens has an ability of creative thinking; how that ability evolved all the way through human history, and all the components it is made of. Such a scientific undertaking lies beyond the scope of this thesis and even further beyond the capabilities of this author. When the creative abilities of humans are assumed nonetheless, it is because the proof of human creativity is abundant: There is no doubt that it exists, so it is used as a starting point, even though the evolutionary development that ensures its existence is not necessarily fully understood. Part three would then, if the view in the imaginary part two is accepted, naturally consist of a mapping of how human creativity has then shown itself throughout history (particularly through art, if one was to stick with the theme). Again, a task that lies beyond both the scope and capabilities available here, and one that is happily left for (art) historians, archaeologists and others to perform. What is left here, in the middle section, is an attempt to connect the two others: To fill the gap between the fact that human creativity exists and the fact that instances of art, quite literally, cover the globe.

To expand on the perspective introduced so far, two terms will be introduced: Urge and ability. These will be used to describe the two basic ways in which products of creativity are believed to emerge. Either a product of creativity is there because there was an urge to make it, or it is there because the ability to think creatively was exercised. It is with some terror that a third term is introduced:Purity. The connotations to this word are extensive and many are quite unhelpful in this context. (Synonyms such as “cleanliness” and “untaintedness” are even less helpful.) What is meant here is simply that there is a degree to which creativity is pure, in the sense that it can be controlled by motives that go beyond the creative act itself. Pure creativity is, then, creativity that is uninterrupted by other motives. Controlled creativity is when the ability to be creative is deliberately called upon to help solve or circumvent a given problem or challenge. The point of bringing up these terms is simple and obvious: They affect both the production and reception of art.

Art that is the result of the mere urge to execute a given creative idea – be it by creating a physical object, telling a story, delivering a performance, or whatever – is pure. A less pure form of art would be one whose result is, to whatever extent, controlled so it fits an agenda that conflicts with the original intent; part of the creative freedom is limited so as to gain, for instance, politically, socially, romantically or financially. A form that could be considered impure would be one where no urge is present to begin with – where the creative ability is simply used and controlled, again, to gain in one way or another.

As ever, convenient hypothetical examples help shed light on newly introduced concepts. A classic example would be the independent band that suddenly gains huge commercial success with its debut album. The follow-up album – if the band survives the initial spotlight – then tends to have the musicians ponder over what made the previous album so successful and, as a result, try and replicate that through controlled creativity, and if they are found out by fans and critics, then they will possibly be accused of “selling out” and “having a commercial agenda”, rather than “sticking with the raw beauty of the debut”. Similar situations obviously have the potential of arising with anyone who has stumbled upon a way to gain financially through his art, whatever kind of art it may be.

Another example would be the painter that has produced all sorts of paintings: Some depict floral arrangements, some depict violent scenes. Some are colourful, some are monochrome. Some are the size of postcards, some take up entire walls. The painter started off by painting flowers to practice his technique, and as he felt more comfortable with the medium, he expanded on canvas size and choice of motifs, completely leaving the flower paintings behind, since they quickly began to bore him. Now, the love interest of the painter is not into his violent depictions, but when she discovers his flower paintings, she gets highly excited and begs for him to paint her a whole series of new flower paintings. If he decides to do so, he is, quite obviously, compromising his urge to paint different things. There is still an urge there for certain, but that is an urge to impress the love interest, not to paint more flowers.

Yet another example includes the performer, who spent most of her youth engaging in highly political street theatre, bashing the establishment, involving the bypassing public the best she could, all in alignment with her own left-wing views. As she grew older, however, the left-wing edge wore off and she became quite a bit more conservative in her political outlook, creating a desire to engage in more traditional theatre – in performances that could be said to be part of that establishment she once fought against. But to avoid commentators and theatregoers attacking her credibility, although all she would be doing would be to behave according to her beliefs, she acts against them to save face, professionally and socially.

Whether or not the examples given here result in art is not a simple “yes” or “no” question, rather they were given to illustrate typical ways of how the creative urge is compromised to support agendas that conflicts with the original intent. The more commercially oriented album, the flower paintings and the political theatre just might all be art, but whether they are not, the point here is that the compromises that were made will be of some importance when others pass judgment on them; assuming, of course, that the recipients are aware of the context of the given instances of art. More about this in the discussion of the reception of art in chapter 3.

An obvious example of something that is definitely not art, however, would be the professional work of graphic designers, i.e. people who work for advertisement and PR agencies and similar ventures, whose goal is to satisfy the needs of their customers, not the urges of the graphic designers. And as with every other professional that puts his creative abilities even to minimal use, any compromise that takes place is obviously rewarded with a paycheck, making the financial gain the primary motivation. (A definition of “dream job” in this context could be said to be one where one is able to pick up a reasonably sized check without having to compromise oneself in any considerable way.)

(By the way: Having to come up with these examples is, in its own right, a perfect example of controlled creativity. They certainly serve a purpose that goes beyond the little fictional narratives themselves; creativity certainly was necessary to make them up; and they most certainly are not art.)

Approaching a definition of art, the golden sentence that can too easily be quoted out of context sounds as follows: Art is a product of human creativity that is not determined by any other motives – be it basic survival, political, social, scientific, romantic, financial or other ones – than that of the creative act itself.

Four highly important comments to go along with this definition: First of all, the word “product” is used to underline that there is an outcome of some sort; obviously creativity can occur without any proper outcome, being only fleeting mental processes. That “everything can be art” is maintained. There are no physical limitations to art, nor any temporal ones, nor any conceptual ones.

Second of all, the word “determined” leaves room for art that is not completely “pure” in the sense described above, since a compromise of the original intent does not necessarily mean that the given instance is not art. If, however, the original intent is directly determined by something other than the creative act itself – such as the listed motives – then the given instance is not art.

Thirdly, as has already been implied a few times, the definition is not intended for any rigid division between that, which is art, and that, which is not. The purpose is, rather, to allow for non-rigid discussions of actual instances, whose art status will sometimes be possible to determine quite easily, while sometimes it will be equally hard, since the information on which the discussion is based can be limited, resulting in a discussion based on probability rather than more solid insight; the Lascaux caves being a good example of the latter. There is good reason to say that the cave paintings were probably the result of a creative act that, based on the sheer extensiveness of the paintings, was determined by the creative urge itself, rather than some other motive. The actual motive of whoever performed the paintings will never be known, and arguments could be put forth that the paintings are not art; either way, one has to settle with not knowing for sure and instead with whatever seems probable. Defining art is a part of human sciences, so ideally all parameters of human life should be taken into consideration when dealing with such a question.

Finally, when a definition of “art” is given here, it is of one sense of the word, and the definition should not be read as an implication that it is the only sense of the word available. Above all, “art” can also rightfully be used in the sense of “developed skill”, such as “the art of keeping a secret”, “the art of political discourse” or “the art of spelling”, all of which directly refer to something within which someone can develop his skills, neither of which has anything directly to do with “art” in the sense discussed in this thesis – other than, of course, sharing an etymological origin, i.e. the Latin word “ars”, the meaning of which seems to cover both senses described here²³, though is typically translated as, indeed, “skill”.

An additional point that does not directly affect the definition given but should still be presented here: To avoid the issue of unhelpful connotations where at all possible, the use of the terms “artist” and “work of art” will be avoided when possible, though obviously they are terms used by many theorists, so to completely avoid them is impossible. Instead of the term “artist”, the terms “person” or “producer of art” are used in an attempt to underline the fact that there are no specific requirements for anyone to produce art. Instead of the term “work of art” (or “artwork”), the terms “piece” or “instance” are used in an attempt to diminish the evaluative connotations, acknowledging that “work of art” is used in everyday language, not least metaphorically, about things as a means to underline enthusiasm about the excellence of the given thing: “That car/meal/house is a work of art!”

It is with this understanding and definition in mind that this thesis and all of the discussions in it will be approached. That there is a Western bias inherent in the thesis has already been pointed out. A cultural blind spot is unavoidable, but its size is intended to be as limited as possible, though it is most likely larger than is possible to truly realize, especially at the point of writing. An urge exists to deal with art and theories from all over the world, but it must be acknowledged that the field of expertise and academic training is limited, still, to Western aesthetics and culture after 1750.

So, with that the discussion will shift its focus to what others have had to say about the topics touched upon so far. While the definition given here is in no way copied from anyone else, others have obviously discussed the origin and evolution of art also.

Thierry de Duve

A starting point for the further discussion will be a point made by Thierry de Duve on Kant’s concept of genius and whether or not that concept appears out of place today. He first says that it is, but then blames the romantic reception of the concept for distorting it: “The romantics turned nature into a mystic entity,” he says and furthermore points out: “With the scientific knowledge we have about nature, now, we should be able to give the notion of genius a new, radically non-romantic, reading.” In giving his version of what Kant meant, de Duve speaks of the artist being “propelled by a natural force of which he/she is largely unaware and that gives the rule to art. Such is Kant’s definition of genius. The emphasis is on this natural force and how we should interpret it”.²⁴ The force talked about here is believed to be the same as the creative ability that is the central focus point of the definition given in this thesis. Now, to continue the discussion of unhelpful connotations, those of the term “genius” certainly fall under that category in this context, since the term is generally used about someone with a far higher than average intelligence level, which, of course, is not seen here as a requirement for someone to be able to produce art. That point aside, de Duve’s point is accepted and seen as supportive of the definition given here, and since de Duve has no definition of art himself, which the quote in the previous chapter showed, there is no immediate conflict to be found here. Furthermore, his point can be said to illustrate that the creative urges and abilities vary from individual to individual – in the sense that there is a difference between the person who produces art and the one who does not.

Support is also found in de Duve’s remark, in a discussion of transmission of tradition in the Middle Ages, that, although others say it, he would never himself say that “art” did not exist then, simply because the discipline of art history had not yet established itself.²⁵ There is full agreement, of course, that the production of art – in whatever form – precedes any culturally constructed discipline or institution.

Further support is found in de Duve’s view that art history is “constituted by the evidential record of previous aesthetic judgments”²⁶, illustrating the inescapable cultural tie between art history and whoever wrote it, essentially pointing out that every culture has its own art histories in the sense that what is looked upon as being important enough to be a candidate for historical inclusion obviously varies from culture to culture, and of course from institution to institution within each culture, creating a highly complex matrix of comparable but different art histories that is only humanly comprehensible when simplified. De Duve sees art historians as “guardians of tradition”²⁷, again underlining that both history and the traditions it documents are made up from entirely subjective choices, a statement with which there is complete agreement here.

Marcel Duchamp

In a long interview about his whole life given shortly before his death, Marcel Duchamp also presented his views on the topics discussed here, and he views art history as “what remains of an epoch in a museum” and “probably even the expression of mediocrity of that epoch, because the beautiful things have disappeared – the public didn’t want to keep them”²⁸, thereby generally agreeing with the point that art history is based on subjectivity.

As for the word “artist”, Duchamp has some reservations about it: “The word ‘artist’ was invented when the painter became an individual, first in monarchical society, and then in contemporary society, where he is a gentleman. He doesn’t make things for people; it’s the people who come to choose things from among his production.”²⁹ Duchamp thereby points out a shift (in Western societies) that quite clearly illustrates the difference between the urge and ability to be creative, and, although it will be maintained that art is made privately as much as publicly, the shift he points out is the public view of the “artist”; i.e. a transformation from someone who uses his creative abilities in his work to someone who no longer has to compromise himself (to the same extent at least); what he produces is (ideally, for him) interesting enough for other people to like and buy (again, in the highly commercially-oriented Western model).

In a string of statements, Duchamp explains his scepticism towards “the evolution of art”, about which he was asked by the interviewer: “Man invented art. It wouldn’t exist without him. All of man’s creations aren’t valuable. Art has no biological source. It’s addressed to a taste.”³⁰ If “man invented art” is another way of phrasing the statement that follows – that art would not exist without man – then there is agreement upon that. If Duchamp refers to the conceptualisation of art, the institution of art, the discourse surrounding art and so forth, then there is also agreement upon that. If, however, he means, which the fourth statement could imply, that the human ability to create art is disconnected from biology, then the agreement ends. Art, as is the view here, is indeed connected to biology, in the sense that it occurs naturally – it does not need the conceptualisation to exist, although that same conceptualisation would appear to generally follow in some form or other. As for the two remaining statements about art not always being valuable and art being addressed to a taste, overall agreement exists, with the notion, however, that while a given piece of art may be of no real value to anyone else, it at least represents a value to whomever made it, simply by being the product of whatever urge that person had to make it.

In the following discussion about the origin of art, Duchamp attacks the notion that art should be generally functional – “Man needs art, in order to refresh himself”, as Duchamp paraphrases that notion – understood in the sense that the function is one that serves the recipient of art, as opposed to whoever makes it. The final statement in the previous paragraph underlines that at least the production of art serves a “function”, since it satisfies the creative urge that precedes it. But that is the only guaranteed functionality of art. When it comes to the reception of art, several potential functionalities – such as art being able to help the recipient to “refresh himself” – can be imagined, and obviously often a piece of art has an appeal that extends far beyond the person that made it, but since it does not hold true of all art, it is not seen as a general quality of art, only as a potential one.

As for the notion that there are no societies without art, Duchamp says that “there isn’t any society without art because those who look at it say so”³¹, which is an interesting observation of a tendency to include things that are not necessarily art, such as wooden spoons from Congo, which is Duchamp’s example, as art. If the creation of the spoons is determined solely by their functionality, as Duchamp claims, then, even though the spoons might be highly aesthetically pleasing, they are not art. Given the overall view presented in this thesis, it is obvious that the spoons are not the best possible example, but one that is convenient in Duchamp’s argument; the claim here is that there would be pure products of human creativity – that is, art – in all societies, but not necessarily ones that would be readily identifiable as such by the onlooker. As for religious fetishes, which Duchamp also discusses and discards as non-art, one point will be made here: If a completely non-religious person creates a piece of art that is a tribute to his love for his partner, then that could quite easily be considered art. If a religious person creates a similar piece, but as a tribute to his love for a deity, then that is somehow harder to consider art. It would require a massive insight into religious traditions – one that is not available here – to examine this to the extent it deserves, but the point is made that it seems odd to so strongly separate religious motivations from other ones.

A final point of Duchamp’s that will be discussed here is his argument that since the word “art” does not “exist among primitives”³², this somehow affects the existence of art, in the sense that something does not exist until we have a word for it. Surely having a word for something raises self-awareness and allows more meta-reflection on the meaning of the word, but it will be argued here that it requires existing instances of a phenomenon for any meaningful use of that word to emerge. So, the word “art” might not exist in any amount of cultural contexts, but that does not mean that the naturally occurring phenomenon it designates does not exist either.

David Favrholdt

The evidence as to why man makes art, according to Favrholdt, is found in the many different art forms that altogether “bear testimony to the fact that man will not just settle for that which is provided by nature, but wants to create something that is more exciting and inspirational than everyday chores.”³³ A somewhat poetic way of phrasing things, but nonetheless one that is generally supportive of the idea of the human urge to create art.

In his own unique way, Favrholdt protests the evolution of art and sees it as a product of an overall tendency in Western societies: “We consider it natural to talk about progress, development, growth, renewal, new ways of thinking, visions, whether it is to do with financial, political or social issues – or even art. The goal is to be progressive, revolutionary, dynamic, untraditional, sceptic towards all that exists. We have a hard time imagining that it could be any different.”³⁴ Favrholdt might be absolutely right, even if he is describing this tendency in somewhat crude terms. It appears to be a natural state of art that it must renew itself in some way. The opposite would be endless reproduction of that, which had revealed itself to be aesthetically rewarding, or whatever parameter one would use to measure “good” art (and thus worthy of reproduction). Favrholdt might have a point in illustrating how obsessive this “renewal for the heck of it” mentality tends to be, and how it can be a key factor in understanding Western societies, but it does not need to apply as directly to art as he wants it to. “Unfortunately, evolutionism has reached a point where it now dominates all of our art institutions. [...] There is a difference between a more or less conscious search for new ways of expression, because you have grown tired of the existing ones, and making it mandatory for such new ways to be sought out.”³⁵ A fair point, albeit a somewhat conservative one that is compatible with Favrholdt’s taste in art, as pointed out in the previous subchapter.

To make his case, Favrholdt chooses to discuss Mozart, stating that he “never felt that he was called upon to create a new style or epoch in music”. He quotes Karl Aage Rasmussen:

“[Mozart’s] talent was instinctively directed towards refining musical forms rather than renewing them or changing their evolutionary direction. He more or less fully accepted his inheritance and was no admirer of ‘originality’ [...] It is a peculiar feature of ‘the greatest composer of all time’ that the history of music most likely would not have been all that different had he never been part of it (except it would be endlessly impoverished, of course!). But the evolutionary lines of history appear to not pass through Mozart – they end there or are drawn around him.”³⁶ Favrholdt comments on Rasmussen’s words: “The actual development would have taken place [...] even if he had died when he was a child. It is not until Beethoven that the sphere of music achieves an ‘evolutionary awareness’.”³⁷

It seems extraordinarily naïve to think that the history of music would have been the same without Mozart, simply because he “only refined” musical forms. It is near the opposite of the well-known symbol of chaos theory; the butterfly that, by the flick of its wings, causes a hurricane on the other side of the planet. In the view of Favrholdt (and Karl Aage Rasmussen, obviously), Mozart’s life, actions and massive musical legacy have had no impact on the world whatsoever. He might as well have died when he was a child.

All in all, it will be claimed here that Mozart left a greater impression on the world than the flick of at least most butterfly wings ever could, and that he did, indeed, change the world and its musical history greatly. Exactly how he did that is, conveniently, far too complex a matter to get into here, but it seems obvious to state that even subtle refinements of artistic forms can be of great inspiration, and potentially even more so than some radical changes, since they are, by nature, much more easily applicable by peers and apprentices.

Furthermore, the vast amount of appreciation that Mozart has received, not least after his death, has clearly left its mark on music history in general. Having in all probability at least one of either Eine Kleine Nacht Musik, Symphony no. 40, Don Giovanni, Requiem or Rondo Alla Turca on the curriculum of plenty of music classes around the world seems a fairly certain way of continuously affecting the way music is played, heard and understood. Also, the very popularity of Mozart’s music is likely to have played an important part in why other composers chose to go about things in a different way that may have been less appealing to the masses.

Favrholdt’s view on the importance of Mozart is pivotal to his understanding of evolution within art. His agenda appears quite clearly to be to argue against radical change for the sake of it, but in doing so he ignores exactly the endless amount of subtle and generally untraceable changes that constantly occur. In fact, it seems impossible to ever say that change is not happening, even within the limited sphere of art, seeing as how every single piece of art is a subjective take on whatever it is a take on; thus, it is ever so slightly (or greatly) different from everything else. Sometimes changes have such strong similarities or even interrelations that they do indeed push things in new overall directions, but other times it is, indeed, more subtle, but that does not mean that no effect at all is there.

Finally, Favrholdt presents an altogether wrong take on evolution, when he says that if one believes in “evolutionism in general, one has to determine that all the evolution we know about – the growth of plants and trees, animal life, our own little, individual existence – all of which is a growth that culminates, decays and ends with death. Conclusion: That must also be the way art goes in the evolutionist perspective.”³⁸

That is just about as wrong a take on evolution as possible. Evolution is not a process that leads towards death. Rather, it is one that works towards the continuation of life through adaptation, and not within any single life, but over the course of generations as species reproduce. As it has already been pointed out, there is no specific goal of evolution other than this mere continuation of life. The conclusion, then, that Favrholdt presents must be reconsidered: He assumes that “the growth of art” will culminate, decay and then die. The view here is that art, being a naturally occurring phenomenon, will not die as long as human cultures exist, but rather will continue to adapt to the cultures and thereby take on different, co-existing forms, as it has been shown throughout history that art naturally does.

George Dickie

In his discussions of other theories of art than his own, George Dickie makes a division between “cultural” and “psychological” approaches and praises the former with the following words:

“The central insight of the cultural approach is that art is a collective invention of human beings and not something that an artist produces simply out if his or her biological nature as a spider does a web or a bowerbird does a bower. The production of an artwork, unlike the production of a bower, does not appear to be directly tied to the evolutionary process as the bower of the bower bird clearly is because of its role in the reproductive process.”³⁹

Dickie speaks of “culture” and whatever makes humans able to invent as if it is somehow placed outside the framework of biology and psychology. The view here is that whatever is commonly meant by “culture” directly exists on the basis of biology, just as the urge to create can be examined through the means of psychology.

There is agreement with Dickie, though, when he criticizes the view that there is a teleological basis for the production of art, in the sense that a deity of some sort has given mankind certain abilities to produce and value art.⁴⁰ The view presented in this thesis is entirely secular.

To completely write off the highly important part that biology and psychology play as prerequisites in the production and very existence of art is a mistake, however. Comparing the production of art with a spider producing its web is a very convenient argument, but not one that bears close examination. The crucial counterargument revolves around the complexity of human nature. Obviously the life of spiders contain intriguing complexity, but biologists have nonetheless managed to map out their behaviour to an extent that makes it possible to predict behavioural patterns of entire species. Neither biology nor psychology have gotten nearly as far when it comes to human beings, so even though science has been able to cover highly impressive ground, human biology and psychology is yet too complicated for similar predictions of the behavioural patterns of Homo sapiens to be possible. (As a side note, this would appear to be an explanation of why studies of “cultures” have proven themselves relevant, since they only deal with a select portion of the species that appear somewhat homogenous from the get-go, and thus provide a less complicated field of study.)

Precisely with art as an example is it possible to illustrate this complexity – how the degree to which art production and appreciation varies from one individual to another: One individual might seem completely indifferent towards everything to do with art, while another is so enthusiastic that it sometimes becomes critical to his well-being whether or not frequent stimulus through art takes place or not. Exactly what conditions need to be in place for the production and/or appreciation of any kind of art to take place will not be attempted to be figured out here, but it seems given that a somewhat complex mix of psychological parameters, along with biological ones, too, make up the framework for this specific field of study.

That art should be something that humans have collectively “invented” creates associations to social constructionism in its most puristic form – that this “invention” is completely disconnected from everything that goes before the social interaction. This view is obviously not shared here, and without reducing the value of social constructionism more than necessary, it will be claimed that it is only truly relevant to concern oneself with when it is taken into account that it stands on the shoulders of biological and psychological fundaments. Art did not occur out of the blue, but out of what can rightfully be called “cultural developments” – to not disregard Dickie completely in this context – but they are developments that are entirely based on natural conditions.

It should be pointed out that the concept of nature operated with in this thesis is an all-inclusive one that does not classify, for instance, “mad behaviour” or “artificially produced materials” as “unnatural”. This goes against that concept of nature that merely covers “that which is untouched by humans”. Humans are a part of nature along with everything else, and when a human paints a picture, sprays an apple with chemicals or guns down his entire family, then this is as much part of nature as when a caterpillar takes a bite of a leaf, when a hamster eats its offspring, or when a spider creates its web. The disconnection of man from nature – and even the placement of man above nature, and other living creatures in particular, in the way Judeo-Christian thinking has done it – leads to a distorted view that prevents a clearer understanding of the mechanisms that are at work in a context like this one.

As argued here, Dickie’s division between the “psychological” and “cultural” approaches must be seen as basically invalid. They are, at their core, two directly connected aspects that cannot be understood individually without an understanding of both.

In an attack on Monroe C. Beardsley and expression theorists (theorists that consider all art an expression of a certain thing, i.e. emotions or certain aesthetic qualities), Dickie says that, to them, “art is just a spontaneous, natural-kind activity on the same level with eating and mating”⁴¹. An altogether quite interesting claim that implies that eating and mating are two activities that are in some way disconnected from the culture in which they take place. It appears peculiarly obvious that they are in no way disconnected; traditions, rituals and everyday behaviour regarding food and sex are at the forefront when it comes to elements that can be said to define a culture (along with, at least, religion and, one might say, art), and the behaviour takes on radically different forms in different cultures, although both eating and mating are based on completely natural urges to survive and reproduce. Dickie, then, shoots himself in the foot somewhat in trying to reduce art to a “natural-kind activity” by comparing it to food and sex, since the production of art is also a highly complex cultural activity based on a natural urge.

Finally, Dickie brings up Levinson and his example of the coloured stones, a discussion of which is relevant here. Dickie quotes Levinson:

“Consider a solitary Indian along the Amazon, who steals off from his non-artistic tribe to arrange coloured stones in a clearing, not outwardly investing them with special position in the world. Might not this also be art (and, note, before any future curator decides it is)?”⁴²

To answer Levinson’s question: Yes, this might very well be art. If the Indian arranges the stones according to his creative urge to do so, and the act is determined by that urge and not by any other functional outcome of the new arrangmenet of the stones, then he has, indeed, created art according to the definition given in this thesis.

On top of that, Levinson’s example serves as an example of how an art practice can hypothetically emerge: Imagine that other people see the stones, either because they discover the clearing in which they are, or because the person who made them is so proud that he wants to show them to others. Some are not impressed, but some are, and some like the idea so much that they have a go at it themselves. They show the results to each other, and some like the pieces by certain people more than the pieces others have made. After a while, some start to include other elements, and the pieces develop from being aesthetically pleasing arrangements to telling stories and containing messages, while others stick to the original concept and try do as much as they can without including other elements. More and more attention emerges from those that do not produce the pieces, and a general awareness of the art practice is spreading through the culture.

This string of events is of course made up entirely of speculation on how an art practice might emerge, but it is not pieced together in a way that is intended to be overly convenient; although this specific string of events in all probability never took place, it does not seem implausible, though, that it might have. Note that this is not a hypothetical tale of how art emerges, but how an art practice emerges – the urge to make art was there to begin with.

Using coloured rocks as an example, as Levinson does, leads to an observation regarding art practices in general, which is that their existences are determined by sheer practicalities and general convenience: Coloured rocks seem a likely starting point for an art practice, since they are, in and of themselves, possible to arrange; their diversity in colour allows for more possible combinations than if they had all been grey; they are possible to find in nature; and so forth. Similarly, when oil and watercolours are popular choices in painting, rather than other kinds of liquid, it is obviously because they are relatively easy to come by and inexpensive; a welcome variety of colours is available; the materials stick well to a canvas; and so forth. When so many song lyrics about “life” are also about finding a “wife” (and possibly ending her life with a “knife”), it is out of the sheer convenience that those words rhyme, like love songs about “you” that made the lyricist feel “blue”, although he stayed “true”. The fact that more people play the guitar than the harp boils down to facts like the guitar being more affordable and easier to learn how to play. A performance might be believed to lead to the best audience experience if it is performed in front of only a handful of people in an intimate setting, but because the performance is a quite expensive one production-wise, the audience is required to consist of several hundred people in a large theatre.

In short: The evolution of art is determined, not simply by ideas in people’s heads, but by whatever remedies are available when those idea are to be executed.

Theodor W. Adorno

A final name that will be called upon in this context is that of Theodor W. Adorno, whose theory on the “culture industry” will serve here as an example of something that looks like art but is not, since it is not determined by the creative act itself, but rather a motive of commercial exploitation. The theory is included in this chapter, since the culture industry bases its exploitation on exactly the evolution of art – on art that has already revealed itself to be popular and thus profitable (within the Western world, which is what Adorno’s theory describes).

In Adorno’s words: “The entire practice of the culture industry transfers the profit motive naked onto cultural forms.”⁴³ He underlines that the products of the culture industry is not art in his text Culture Industry reconsidered, in which he speaks of his and Max Horkheimer’s development of the theory:

“In our drafts we spoke of ‘mass culture’. We replaced that expression with ‘culture industry’ in order to exclude from the outset the interpretation agreeable to its advocates: that it is a matter of something like a culture that arises spontaneously from the masses themselves, the contemporary form of popular art. From the latter the culture industry must be distinguished in the extreme.”⁴⁴

The concept of purity previously introduced in this thesis – the degree to which creativity is pure, in the sense that it can be controlled by motives that go beyond the creative act itself – is supported by Adorno, who, in talking about the autonomy of art, points out that complete purity is rare – to which there is agreement here – but that whatever purity is there is “tendentially eliminated by the culture industry, with or without the conscious will of those in control.”⁴⁵

The – in this context – impure motive of the culture industry is dealt with in this manner by Adorno: “If the response of the culture industry’s representatives is that it does not deliver art at all, this is itself the ideology with which they evade responsibility for that from which the business lives. No misdeed is ever righted by explaining it as such.”⁴⁶ There are many moral issues to be discussed here, but the main point is to have the products of the culture industry illustrate how the other end of the discussed purity scale can look. These products can theoretically be anything that mimics art, but are obviously most often ones that can be targeted at large segments of a market, since that will raise the odds of the biggest possible financial gain.

As with the definition of art, the culture industry theory does not provide a simple and easy way to determine when something is entirely a product of the culture industry – and thus not art – and when it is not. But it is a theory that strongly highlights a motive that lies far from the creative act itself and thereby becomes useful in the understanding of the scale that spans the whole range from pure art to non-art.

1c. The point of art

“It is perhaps fashionable to deny that art in general has a point.”⁴⁷

What indeed is the point of art? The question has already been touched upon in the previous chapter, as the answer is directly linked to the evolutionary aspect of art: There is no specific overall goal or purpose aside from stimulating the mind of whomever could not help but make the given piece of art – an intellectual fitness exercise, to paraphrase Geoffrey Miller. This should illustrate that all questions regarding “the general point of art”, to paraphrase Stephen Davies, should, as previously pointed out, ultimately be directed at evolutionary biologists and psychologists who might be helpful in determining why humans are at all able and willing to be creative for the sake of creativity. At this stage, it will suffice to say that obviously the person creating a piece of art benefits from it in some way or other – at least intellectually – or else he would not do it. No person, as is the view here, ever purposefully does anything that is not perceived to be beneficial to himself.

That art on both the level of the individual piece of art as well as on a cultural level can be said to “have a point” does not say something about an inherent trait of all art, but rather something about how art – and the creative abilities that precede it – can be used to serve a given point. On the individual level, a piece of art might serve the point of expressing an emotion, communicating a message, delivering a narrative, or whatever the idea behind the piece might be. On a cultural level it is more complex, but it seems fair to say that a “point” is projected onto art on that level when art is said to educate citizens, to bear testimony to the characteristics of a culture, or to offer a form of intellectual entertainment accessible by paying the entrance fee at a museum – and so forth. All of which are examples of convenient uses of certain kinds of art that are able to correspond with such purposes, as opposed to all kinds of art always being able to serve these purposes.

An attempt at putting together a list of why “aesthetic experience” is “valuable” was made by Beardsley as a summary of “effects” pointed out by Shelley, I.A. Richards and John Dewey:

Aesthetic experience:

a) Relieves tensions and quiets destructive impulses

b) Resolves lesser conflicts within the self and helps to create an integration

c) Refines perception and discrimination

d) Develops the imagination and along with it the ability to put oneself in the place of others

e) Is an aid to mental health, but more as a preventive measure than as a cure

f) Fosters mutual sympathy and understanding

g) Offers an ideal for human life⁴⁸

Now, this list is accepted as being descriptive of some aesthetic experiences, but, which should come as no surprise, it is seen as a list of how Beardsley and others would like all aesthetic experiences to be, in the sense that if an experience causes tensions, builds up conflicts within the self, corrupts perception and empathetic abilities, worsens mental health or does not offer an ideal for human life, then it is somehow not an aesthetic one, and, in this context, not relevant in terms of what kind of experiences art can provide. The view here is, then, that there is no immediate logic to the limitations of this list, when it comes to approaching a thorough understanding of art, as opposed to an understanding of what certain people consider “valuable”, to use Beardsley’s term.

Although Favrholdt openly states that his motivation for defining art lies in the fact that art is able to make him shiver, make him happy, to edify him and to comfort him in the middle of all the horrors of the world⁴⁹ – in other words, that art has had a great impact on him – he states that art, on the cultural level, and with an emphasis on provocative art, has no effect as such:

“What is tragicomic about it is that for over 80 years have we seen the same kinds of provocation over and over again, the screams have become louder, but the effect never appeared: The evolution of society, the industrial world, the stock market, the exchange, the suppression of people, the wars, everything has continued, as if art did not even exist.”⁵⁰

According to Favrholdt, all that he – or anyone – can do in life to change the horrors of the world that the “artists” are making him aware of is to “give to charity, sign a protest petition, and put my mark in a different spot the next time there is an election”⁵¹ – thereby surrendering himself to a somewhat defeatist attitude, not just towards art, but the world in general.

The mistake Favrholdt makes is not necessarily that he is sceptical towards the effect of art on a cultural level, but rather that he seems to have expected a simple cause-and-effect system to appear that would allow someone to say that because of artwork X, cultural change Y happened. This is, indeed, an overly simplistic way of viewing art and its potential to change minds in a given direction. As will be discussed in chapter 3, any conscious encounter with a piece of art will lead the recipient to pass judgment on it, and any such encounter will thereby alter the mind of the recipient – perhaps fairly insignificantly so in most cases, but an experience still took place, to which it is possible for the recipient to refer, consciously or subconsciously. Now, if the encounter was indeed fleeting and rather insignificant, then there is reason to believe that it will not lead to any traceable change in the behaviour of that person. But as soon as the encounter leads to even the slightest change in behaviour, even when the connection between that change and the piece of art that caused it is practically impossible to locate, art can be said to have an effect. Now, when overwhelming experiences, such as the ones Favrholdt describes himself as having had, some amount of realization has the potential to occur. No realization necessarily occurs – perhaps the experience was simply one of pure joy – but some amount might occur, and if it does, it has the potential of clearly affecting the behaviour of that person. Even if the experience was simply joyful, it should, logically, lead the recipient to seeking the possibility of having such an experience again.

As is evident, the previous paragraph uses plenty of uncertain terms and speaks of potentials rather than given effects of art. To do otherwise would be to try speaking “whereof one cannot speak”, as Wittgenstein phrased it. When the discussion is nonetheless included in this thesis, it is because it is believed to highlight the attribute of art that appears to have others speak of “the point of art”: The effect a piece of art potentially has on its recipient. As pointed out, no significant effect is necessarily traceable in any way, nor is it safe to say exactly what such an effect might consist of, leading to the conclusion that a “general point of art” does not exist – beyond stimulating the mind of whoever makes a given piece of art.

Proceed to Chapter 2: The Institution of Art