Artists: Just Do It!

In The Name of the World, a novel by Denis Johnson, a character says this about art: "And I realized that what I most required of a work of art was that its agenda -- is that the word I want? -- not include me."

I've been pondering the nature of art. What makes something art? What makes you care about my opinion on this? You cannot hope to find some revelatory expertise here. You're hoping for an artful expression of unoriginal ideas.

Anyway, AG and I have tussled over whether the preparation of food can be an art form. She says certainly and I have been reluctant to agree. However, EC sees a measure of "pretentiousness" in certain dishes she's been served in the San Francisco area. It's as if she dismisses the artistic ambitions of chefs or friends adept in the kitchen. I push back here, too, and I'm left to wonder where I stand between AG and EC.

Who cares? Well, the greater question is, "What is art?" or "What makes some endeavor an artistic project?"

I like Denis Johnson's understanding: It's not a definition, not an attempt to answer the question, but it certainly does, for me, provide a guidepost for what I consider great art.

Food wouldn't qualify in this definition because chefs presumably want me to be delighted by their work. I am clearly part of their agenda. And, of course, this applies to most artists who must respond to the market to some extent if they want to do art.


In the movie "Big Night," the proprietor of a very busy, but schlocky Italian restaurant gives the proprietor of what we would now call an "artisinal," struggling Italian restaurant, the following advice: "Give them what they want and then you can give them what YOU want." Trouble is, once artists start compromising, they not only stop doing what they feel they must do, they also forget it. Or if they haven't forgotten it, they're so out of practice that they lost the ability.

So there's art and there's art. AG is right: The culinary arts are arts. EC is right: Chefs can risk pretentiousness.


However, we're a creative species. We try to turn everything into an art form. We add a flourish to the mundane and so, for example, walking eventually becomes dancing. Watch how kids innovate when playing a game. We want to be creative, beautiful, cool.

And we want to be acknowledged for our creative take on the quotidian. We want approval. At the same time, we tend to honor those artists who stay radically true to their vision without attending to the tastes of the day. Yes, we also think them jerks sometimes.

When I appreciate a work of art -- a novel, some music, something visual, and, yes, a meal, or skateboarding tricks, etc. -- my appreciation is serendipitous for the artist unless I'm part of a fairly predictable demographic targeted by the artist. I hope that the artist is creating whatever she needs to create and that I am happily responding to it. I don't want to think that she's pandering to my demographic or my tastes. I'd rather the artist do what she needs to do. And then, if I like it, great. If not, let's hope someone else will so that this artist can eat and work.

So art is best when the artist's agenda does not include me. And if the artist's agenda does speak to me . . . . good for the artist. I hope.

AG . . . Happy?