Yesterday, I had an argument about The Hunger Games. Briefly, my opponent claimed that the sci-fi series takes the side of populism in general, but in refusing to take a specific position on the political questions of our time regarding Conservatism, Progressivism, and what it means to be “for the people”, the film fails to make a politically resonant critique of contemporary society. I argued that this refusal is one of the great achievements of the series, that by allowing both Conservatives and Progressives to identify their own political ideology within the world of Panem and the Districts, the series actually makes a more powerful criticism of American politics.
I still think I’m right (sorry Andrew), but it doesn’t really matter. I woke up this morning appreciating conversations about politics, film and interpretation. Validation of my reading of The Hunger Games wasn’t really the point. I wasn’t seeking validation in my position in that fight so much as I was interested in engaging a politically progressive (small p) story about economic inequality in a sci-fi dystopia.
Today, I read Jerry Saltz’s editorial at Vulture, “When Did the Art World Get so Conservative?” The first reaction I had was the desire to tweet @jerrysaltz and ask him why he’s wasting his time reading negative comments on Facebook and Twitter. Then, I realized, that would not be an honest engagement with the man or his article. So instead, here we are.
Saltz’s piece laments, among other things, the reactionary nature of social media as a venue for mostly angry or offended individuals to vent at art and art critics. He thinks that the moral policing of art by liberals has led to a much more conservative (small c) landscape for artists and critics. Saltz writes of having been descended upon by the “decency police” for posting graphic images of women in photography, while even more graphic images from medieval illuminated manuscripts of torture and castration “delighted everyone.” He points to the likes on Facebook and Instagram, and the Twitter reaction to various art objects in various mediums, and sees a world less receptive of art expression.
Recounting the treatment he has received on social media-being called a sexist, a racist, etc. with little contextual regard for his actual arguments-Saltz wonders why art and conversations about art in our era have become so heavily policed. I’m not particularly sympathetic to Jerry Saltz or his hurt feelings from Facebook comments or his take on social media, which seems largely to be wondering why Jerry Saltz is not more well-received on social media.
Still, he does eventually ask an important question when it comes to how we treat art objects in our daily interactions.
Progressives, Saltz says, do well to seek the eradication of sexism and prejudice in culture. “There is genuine progressive value in that” he says, citing the attention given to military and campus rape epidemics, and to the abuse of people of color by police forces across the US. “But when we’re treating works of art as ruthlessly and unsubtly as we would hate speech, is it political progress or aesthetic ignorance?”
The question isn’t unique, but it’s always instructive. It has to do with individual taste, politics, and a personal willingness to engage with art-in any form-honestly. While Saltz’s article deal with problems around art and medium (the fight about “paintings” vs. “prints” is lost on me), the resulting question is appropriate not only for art critics or academics. Questions of engagement, opinions, and personal attacks affect writers covering any cultural outputs. And in the end, they seem to be, just like Saltz’s editorial, about our desire for validation.
We all want our values to be shared and reinforced. We want our opinions to be validated by our peers. Now, it seems, we want our opinions validated by bloggers and Facebook users, total strangers. too. There are and always have been naysayers and scolds who set out to tear others down. They do so not for political progress or artistic engagement, but out of aesthetic ignorance or personal pleasure. They’ve just never been easier to find.
Four years ago, the great populist of film criticism, Roger Ebert, wrote about “the scolds” who “have emerged in recent days to smack at critics” who did not love Christopher Nolan’s Inception. Whenever I see an article like Saltz’s, I am reminded of Roger Eberts’ blog-post on Inception and its haters, and the “human tendency to resent anyone who disagrees with our pleasures.” Specifically, I remember this: “The less mature interpret that as a personal attack on themselves.”
While the sci-fi spectacle Inception may seem a far cry from the the Sugar-Sphynx of Kara Walker, the inherent defensiveness of voicing of criticism and opinions is the same. What matters is not whether or not an agreement is found, but whether engagement is found. If you’re not invested in engaging with a film or a painting (or print?) then you are not interested in political progress or aesthetics or cultural dialogue. And you know what? That’s fine; get thee to Rotten Tomatoes or the comments of a Facebook posting by Jerry Saltz.
But if you are in interested in art and it’s meaning, then do not seek validation from social media. It’s possible you might find it, but you’ll also, always, find the scolds. Just hope that someone takes the time to read your work, or watch your film, or see your painting, or even listen to your political interpretation of The Hunger Games, and gives you the courtesy of an honest engagement.
