It's a weird phenomenon. I don't have a lot of time this morning to consider it logically, but the thought that leaps to mind is that it's a result of the emphasis in our educational system on the 3 Rs - Reading, wRiting, and aRithmetic. Not that many kids are very good at those these days, either. But our society has been pounding calculation over conceptualization for so long that today's adults look at concept art and say "Gee, I'd like to say it sucks, but...uh...I couldn't explain why."
Once upon a time, the first thing most art was judged by was aesthetic appeal. It was "pretty" to some sense - ears or eyes usually. Within specific periods there were some works of music, at least, that at the time everyone called "crap" (Rite of Spring by Stravinsky caused a riot when it opened) but as time went on, and aural conceptualization skills changed, so did the judgment of the listener change, and now Rite of Spring is revered as a "great."
I guess the question is, will human kind ever look back and say "what a genius!" about the guy that mixed colors of paint with his own excrement and then shot it at a canvas with a bazooka gun? Will they look at the result and find it aesthetically pleasing? Will they call him an innovator with great vision or will they call him a monkey?
Well...the way things are going...aren't many doing that already?
Sometimes I envision a kid in art class. A youngish kid. Poor guy wants to be able to draw great pictures with all his heart, but can't draw a straight line to save his soul. He is criticized by classmates and maybe even his teacher. He grows up with resentment - deep seated, maybe. And into adulthood, his dreams of being an artist shattered, he revolts and asks "What's so great about being able to draw a straight line? What does it matter if what I create is "aesthetically pleasing? Isn't what is most important that I exist and I created this with my own hands?" Then he looks around and sees that no one else has any better idea of how to conceptualize aesthetics than he does, and he sees his freedom. It comes in the form of feigning competence and doing so with great confidence. "I'll simply take a broom and call it "the symbol of the slavery of women to household chores" and then I'll dip it in baby shit, "a symbol of the byproduct of women" and I'll smear it on a canvas, and there. That's art." Add a measure of arrogance and unfounded confidence butted up against the average viewers lack of ability to say WHY it sucks, and voila. Today's art.
In the jazz business, there's a phenomena most musicians are familiar with. If you listen to Miles Davis' late recordings, or even watch some footage, you'll see him standing in a corner making what I call "animal noises" out of his trumpet. It's aesthetically NOT pleasing. On purpose, maybe. But once upon a time, Miles could "draw a straight line" and very eloquently, at that. And that's what I witness these days. A running joke is that Miles thought he was God - he could do whatever he wanted and it was valid. Up and coming artists seem to believe they can skip the phase of their creating that involves "coloring inside the lines." Most of us musicians believe that before you can make "animal noises" and call it art, you must first be able to demonstrate mastery of coloring inside the lines and drawing straight lines. Why? Because stick a trumpet onto the face of a monkey and you can get animal noises. Is the monkey now an artist?
One last story to edify that. I walked into a Guitar Center in San Diego a few years ago looking to buy a keyboard. A Zeezer (kid with razor blade earings, tongue ring - maybe a bolt through his cerebral cortex - I dunno) assisted me. I told him I wanted to buy a keyboard. He took me to this machine. It had many buttons and colored lights. He fired it up. Pressing one button, a groove started on drums. Pressing another button, a bass line kicked in. Pressing yet another button, the sound of a piano started laying down accompaniment rhythms and chords. The thing that scared me was the way he pressed the buttons. He wasn't demonstrating the machines functions - he actually believed he was playing music. I smiled and said "I know I'm old fashioned, but I still like to play the notes myself. Can you show me a keyboard that has keys?"
I'll end with a joke. A musician dies and goes to heaven. St. Peter welcomes him with open arms. "You're going to LOVE it here. We have the most wonderful music consortium. All the greats are there. And he takes him to a building. They go inside and begin walking down a long hallway. Behind one door, he hears some amazing Bebop saxophone. This guy is tearing it up. The man asks "Wow...who is that?" St. Peter replies "Charlie Parker," and smiles. They continue walking. Behind another door is the sound of a piano being played marvelously. St. Peter looks at the man and says "Art Tatum...amazing, isn't he?" The man nods, smiling. They continue to walk. Nearing the end of the hall, the most horrible awful trumpet sounds are emanating. I mean it's BAD. The man screws up his face and looks at St. Peter. "Who or WHAT is that?" St. Peter shakes his head and kind of laughs. "Don't mind him, St. Peter replies. "That's just God. He thinks he's Miles Davis."
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