Or: What’s the Difference Between a Tool and a Sculpture?
In the previous post, we arrived at three propositions:
Every Tool Is Itself A Sculpture.
Sculptures Communicate Things.
Tools communicate that something is to be done, and done in a certain fashion.
These propositions have tons of great implications for the consumer products all around us.
But how do these propositions relate to the things that we conventionally think of as sculptures?
Tools communicate that something should be done.
“Formal” art communicates that something should be. Or rather, that something is.
Formal art is an assertion that function and utility do not necessarily define meaning, but rather that meaning is intrinsic to being.
In other words, formal art isn’t used for anything, but we like to have it around. Why? Because we still think it’s valuable. Why is that? That depends on the work, but that fact that we do is a reminder that some things in life are valuable before they can be used for something.
Here’s part of the reason why: Formal art reminds us that existence is itself an act, or a type of “doing.”
“Am, is, are, was, were, be, being, been.” These are all verbs. “Stop being rude!” “Be kind!”
There is a school of thought which argues that the things we commonly think of as qualities or “states” are really assessments of actions, especially actions often repeated. As far as I understand him, I think Thomas Aquinas might be a fan.
This idea makes some sense when we think of words that describe human action– “He is kind” means “He repeatedly/consistently performs acts that reflect goodwill toward others.” But it also works with more widespread biological functions, even passive ones. “He is hungry” means “His stomach is repeatedly being empty and his stomach is repeatedly reacting with the release of hormones and muscular contractions.” Let’s go further. “The bus is repeatedly being yellow.” In fact, the bus is repeatedly being.
Okay, that’s nice. What does that have to do with anything?
Let’s apply what we’re talking about to the laws of physics. These are realized to be human assessments of repeated occurrences (actions), nothing more. Catalogues of repetitions, and wagers against chaos. The regular occurrence of an event is no guarantee that it will happen again. Look at taxpayers. Do we really know why Newton’s apple fell?
That is, unless you fancy gravity to be a minor deity in the pantheon of science, a little Eros which runs around firing his arrows at molecules and masses, spurred on by his Aphrodite, Einsteinian Relativity?
To speak of these man-made mental constructs “governing” nature is rather paradoxical, is it not? Paradox is not necessarily a bad thing, but we’ve got to unpack it. Our scientific pantheon may not actually correspond with that which drives the universe, which is why we still have scientific questions and gaps. But this outlook keeps working over and over, and is really awesome and useful and practical for that reason. Do we need to ask why? What did that just do to science? Hopefully we’ll have a post about this at a later date.
Now let’s apply what we’re talking about to ethics.
Can somebody “be just” without doing just things? Think about what a lie of omission is. Or a sin of omission. As the band Rush would assert: “If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.” Baggage there as well.
Now all that is well and good. We could keep going with more disciplines and life things. But do you think sculptors themselves care about this hoo-hah?
Enter Michelangelo’s David.
Much has been made of the tension of being/becoming, which was a preoccupation of Renaissance art. What you’re supposed to know about this sculpture is that Michelangelo depicted David right before he moved to go kill Goliath. That’s the sling draped over his shoulder. Michelangelo studied very carefully to figure out how to depict arm and leg muscles in tensed positions rather than relaxed ones. He’s got them tensed here. Those muscles are in the act of moving David forward before he actually moves. For those literate in physics, he has depicted David at the moment of impulse. David is, and yet he does. Do you see the tension? Michelangelo is asking questions about what it means to be, and what it means to do. Especially and primarily, for humans. Be Brave, David!
More recently, the Australian designer Marc Newson has been probing the same questions, especially through the work which established him: his Lockheed Lounge.
Oh good, it looks like we’re talking about design again. By the way, Newson now collaborates with Jony Ive at Apple. At the time of this work, Newson was in (product) design school. He was interested in exploring the possibilities and limitations of working with aluminum, hoping to handcraft a metal object with qualities of weightlessness and liquidity, “like a suspended blob of mercury.” He was also inspired by the chaise (chair) from Jacques Louis-David’s Madame Recamier. Just like Michelangelo, he’s concerned with a few things at once. He considers the chair to be primarily a sculpture, with the form of a chair as an excuse. It’s not primarily intended to be comfortable. Throughout these sources, the piece is praised for “sensuality,” “tactile elements,” and the unavoidable human element that comes with handcrafting, although the work still manages to come off as futuristic. It’s “Terminator 2 Meets Sensuous Lady Couch.” The last quote is my own take.
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To quote David Revere McFadden, chief curator at New York’s Museum of Art & Design, “Modernism and industrial design used to produce practical but impersonal pieces. Marc, and other contemporary designers such as Ron Arad, use the process of manufacturing to make intimate objects.”
Remember our discussion of pragmatism and design? Marc has clearly taken a side. He’s done so by making objects which cross the very line we have been discussing, that between a tool and a sculpture, and thus making the line (and the question) more apparent. He was asked to make a “product,” or a tool. Instead, he made a sculpture about the idea of a tool. He has chosen to aesthetically consider means. We might call Marc many things, but it would be hard to call him a pragmatist. “How do we relate to our tools?” and, “Is this a tool or a sculpture?” are questions very germaine to the relationship of doing and being.
This post is titled, “Ontology.” Why? The name of that discipline is derived from οντος, the greek participle of the verb “to be,” and is the study of the nature of be-ing, which is something we do a lot. Congratulations, you just understood your first ontology pun. If you’re feeling insecure, here’s some ice cream.
That which we generally conceive as art (the sculpture, over against the tool as tool) lives in the realm of these first questions, these first actions. Tools are concerned with the aftermath. Good tools are aware of the conversation. This series is about the tool questions, the sculpture questions, how these questions have already been approached, and how the possibilities ripple into everything else.
To Be Continued